


Going Somewhere, You Are

by hippononymous



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 23:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15593574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippononymous/pseuds/hippononymous
Summary: Everyone in the Enchanted Forest is born with a soulmate mark so Emma's stuck with one too.Maybe. Probably.Spoiler: It's not what matters.





	Going Somewhere, You Are

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own ouat.

No one knows what to make of them. She had been found with them. No one paid the words any mind before her first family. They have their pediatrician look the mark over, concerned that the baby they adopted had been tattooed.

Except the puzzled pediatrician and the colleagues he consults with for a second opinion conclude that it is definitely not a tattoo. It's not a scar or a branding. If anything, it’s a birthmark.

Though, no birthmark tends to be a small phrase in perfect, elegant script.

The rest of the checkup goes fine, and the mark becomes little more than a quirk and potential anecdote. Not that it matters.

The family that's not really a family leaves her behind when they find out they're having a baby of their own. No one cares enough to notice the mark again for many years.

*

Lily is unrestrained and fun and light. _Special_. She's _like_ _her_. She feels like a friend and a possibility all wrapped into one. And Emma doesn't connect like this. Not when it's easy. Not with someone who doesn't see her as being a burden. Not with someone who simply wants her around, no hidden agendas.

It's…amazing.

But Lily is also a mess. She cares too little, and Emma's self-diagnosed lie detector says she's pretending. That maybe _that's_ easier too. But they're laughing at nothing and toppling over each other as it vibrates through them and Lily spills her cherry coke and only laughs harder. Emma doesn't even care about her shirt. She feels _free_. Happy, even.

When she lays it out in the grass to dry and wipes at her undershirt with napkins, Lily grabs at her hand. Emma hadn't even noticed her tank riding up, and she feels her face heat up for reasons she doesn't understand when Lily's fingers trace over the words on her hip. But Lily? Lily just smiles, and there's nothing awkward about this for her.

"Have you met them yet?" Lily asks, apropos of nothing.

"What?"

"Your mark," she states it obviously, as if this is a conversation between them.

Her face is no longer flushed, but Emma suddenly feels uncomfortable in other ways. She steps back and yanks her wet pullover back on.

"Sorry," Lily says, and it's the first time she has seemed serious about anything. "It's just soulmate marks are _really_ rare. Here," and then she's pulling up her sleeve and holding out her wrist. Spotting familiar script, Emma almost reaches out before stopping herself.

She's blushing again. "I don't understand."

"There's not a lot of text on it, but legend has it that some people are born with the first words their soulmate will ever say to them."

Which sounds ridiculous, but she scans over Lily's wrist again anyway. She doesn't know why she's disappointed over the fact that her first words to Lily were very different.

"Kinda lame, I know." Lily rolls her eyes, pulling her sleeve back down. _Blasé mask activated._ "I don't know. I've had them forever. Some freak might have written them on my when I was a baby for all I know, but I guess the soulmate thing is less of a horror show. I've never met anyone else with words until now. So that's something."

Lily starts laughing again and racing to take their last bag of stolen skittles, and it's easier to just do that with her than have heavy conversations about anomalies Emma doesn't know what to make of.

Lily's probably lying anyway. As Emma soon learns, Lily was lying about everything else. She forgets about it all and tells herself that none of it matters.

*

The first thing Neal says to her is _Impressive_ , and she doesn't even think about that or the idea of soulmates until she's already in love. Until he already feels like home.

But they're just words and Emma doesn't believe in predestined bullshit soulmate marks anyway. Even if that sort of fantasy would make everything in the world easier.

Neal does pause on her words, though. And if she wasn't so nervous and if this wasn't their first time together and if they weren't in a crappy motel bed, Emma might have paid more attention to his pallor once he sees them. But it's gone in a moment.

"Cool tat," is all he says before climbing back over her and reclaiming her lips.

Emma never bothers to correct him, and not that she's looking but she's never able to find words on Neal either, then it all comes crashing down.

She's left pregnant and alone in jail, and easy fantasies and soulmate marks are long left forgotten until a boy lands on her doorstep and takes her to a town called Storybrooke.

*

 _Everyone_ in Storybrooke seems to have a mark, and no one seems to balk at them. Emma casually brings it up to the ten year-old know-it-all constantly at her side.

Henry says he's the only one in town that he knows of that doesn't have a mark. He says it's A Fairytale Land Thing and _of course it is_. For Henry, everything comes back to his book. Except…these marks are also in his book, plainly defined as soulmate marks. She snaps the book closed once Henry asks to see hers. She lies and says she doesn't have one, and her heart aches at his disappointment in her.

It's the closest she comes to believing in his story. Instead, Emma tells herself that somewhere out there other copies of Henry's book were published. That must have been what Lily read.

*

The thing is everyone in Storybrooke takes their marks very seriously. As if they've all read Henry's book too. Emma's begun looking into town documents and old newspapers, anything that would indicate this being a town tradition or shared belief. Like Storybrooke's own little congregation of faith. She finds nothing but misdated articles and stops looking, focusing solely on Henry and work and Mary Margaret and their nightmare of a mayor.

Mary Margaret doesn't give her a chance to breathe. Despite Emma's advice, she continues on with her…whatever flirtation with David Nolan and is devastated her mark doesn't match. _You saved me_ is what he said to her, but as she shows Emma–time after time–hers is a demand to show her face.

Which.

Okay.

"What's yours?" Mary Margaret smiles, solicitously grabs Emma's hand over dinner.

They're doing takeout tonight because it was Emma's turn to cook, but Regina had been riding her all day about extra patrols and Emma's exhausted. This isn't a conversation to be having, and she does something she's never done with Mary Margaret before now. She retreats.

"My what?" She finishes the rest of her BLT and deposits her plate in the sink, back turned. 

"Your mark. Come on, I can use the distraction. I showed you mine." She's smiling, teeth wide, when Emma turns back around. And like that, Emma simply relaxes. There's an ease here she simply can't explain.

"You know not everyone has soulmate marks, right? They're kind of not a thing outside of this town."

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes, smiles again. "Everyone has a soulmate even if that's not the person you're-" She frowns, light mood suddenly gone until she nods to herself. "Right. Distracting me. So what were Graham's first words to you?" she teases. Emma groans. This is becoming a habit. An unfortunate one.

"You need to drop that." Mary Margaret doesn't seem inclined. "Besides, they're not…"

"So you _do_ have one?"

"Yes," Emma pushes forward to stop whatever it is her outright giddy roommate is going to say next. "But they're not Graham's or anyone's. It's not important."

Mary Margaret frowns again, concern palpable "Of course it is."

"Really? Does it change the way you feel about David?"

Mary Margaret sighs and drops her head to the table. "Love stinks."

Emma grins, unthinkably fond. "That's what they say."

*

It gets outright unbearable near Valentine's Day. All of Storybrooke seems to be talking about soulmates. Whether it be in excitement or derision, it's the talk of the town. That combined with being cut off from Henry and Mayor Mills, Her-Royal-Pain-In-the-Assness, being extra difficult this week, well, Emma's not having a good day. The last thing she wants to do is drop off the requested (demanded) incident report of Gold and Moe French, but she grits her teeth and gets it over with. It will save her from a larger headache later. Probably.

At least Regina is consistent in being absolutely joyless. At the very least she's been one of the few people not to utter the word soulmate of late. So of course Emma stumbles into a way to ruin that too.

She's running late. _Fine_. A lot late. That doesn't mean she has to interrupt Regina on the phone, laying into someone about regulations for pond preservation, looking more casual than Emma's ever seen her.

A decanter's on her desk, sitting on a mess of papers. Her blazer of the day is hanging off the back of her chair. Her heels are off, and still she's practically prowling as she berates some other poor soul for a change. It's…not something Emma's contemplating. She knows what this is. She knows Regina's type. There's power in garnering attraction, an immediate upper hand. She's used it herself plenty while working various cons and tracking several bail-jumpers. Emma's not going to fall for it. Even if it seems a hell of a lot more natural on Regina.

The need to leave this office is suddenly stronger than it normally is, and she's about to interrupt the phone call before she sees it. Black script peeking out on Regina's left shoulder blade under a sleeveless top. It's short and simple. Too simple, Emma thinks, for someone who demands so much with only their presence.

 _Hi_.

If Regina subscribes to the same mindset as the rest of the town, that's gotta, well, suck. You say hi to most people you meet. If you're actually looking to meet your soulmate, that could be…anyone.

Dread hits her and panic climbs up her throat. _Hi_ is the first thing _she_ said to Regina. But it can't–It's ridiculous. Because soulmates and marks aren't _real_ no matter how much this town is invested in them. It still takes her a minute to remember that Regina had asked about Henry _,_ which doesn't match her own ordinary words ghosting over her hip anyway.

Right.

Regina finally turns around and spots her. If Emma hadn't just dodged a crisis, she may have taken some satisfaction in Regina's startled jump, but it barely registers.

"I'll call you back," she growls into the receiver and hangs up the call. "Sheriff Swan. Did no one ever teach you to knock?"

"Sorry." God, what it _wrong_ with her? She never apologizes to this woman. She's–she's just really tired. Her head's not even in the game. "Gold's incident report." She holds up the file and promptly drops it onto Regina's uncharacteristically messy desk instead of handing it over. _That_ should at least grate her.

"I asked for this hours ago." Regina glares.

"Got held up."

"Productive as always, I'm sure."

Emma's close to leaving at that, and if this feeling of incompleteness hadn't hit her, she probably would have. Dissatisfaction goes a long way it would seem.

"He beat him with a cane," Regina reads, and really, no one should look so gleeful at that. She looks back over to Emma. "You arrested him then?"

Which is something Regina already _knew_ , and if Emma could go _one_ day without having to figure out this woman's endless series of endgames–

"For now. French didn't want to press charges."

Maybe she should have pushed harder for that. Emma's still not sure she's cut out for that part of the job. And tonight had been difficult. There might still be a woman in trouble somewhere despite Gold's denials.

"Gold's a menace," Regina says. "It might do us all some good to keep him locked up." And that's disingenuous at best. If they ever sat down and talked like normal human beings, Regina would probably be appalled if Emma told her what an easy read she is.

"Look, leave the sheriff's department out of whatever beefs the two of you have."  

"Oh that's right." She smirks, far too knowing to ever be as secretive as she aiming for. Emma hates that look. "I forgot. You're in his bed now."

Emma wrinkles her nose. "Ew."

It's late and honest and uncalculated by what has become their standard, and Regina snickers in agreement. It's easy for once. It's–it's sitting in Regina's study her first night in town and trying to foolishly, who knows, _bond_ over Henry's weird fairytale obsession. When it felt like some type of understanding could be found between them. When Emma might have been looking for something as elusive as connection.

Against her better judgment, Emma tilts her head and glances back to try and get another look at Regina's shoulder. But Regina catches her and everything shifts back to normal.

Regina's chin raises a hair. Her shoulders tense. Her back goes ramrod straight. _Madam Mayor in all of her autocratic glory._

Except she reaches behind her and grips the blazer over the back of her chair until her knuckles turn white.

"If there's nothing else, Miss Swan."

Emma swallows. "No. There's nothing else."

"Good. Then I guess you can go back to eating too many bear claws and using my son to fill the void in your life."

Of course that whole connection thing might have gone better if Regina Mills wasn't such a frustrating and terrible person.

*

If she could go back, Emma would take frustrating and terrible over sociopathic and dangerous every single time.

She has parents, and they're fairytale characters. It's real. All of it is real. She hasn't even had the time to process if she wants it to be real. The book. Snow White. Evil Queens and Dark Ones. Soulmates. Portals. _Saviors_.

Emma saved Henry and now there's magic and wraiths and Jefferson's hat, and she's stuck in the Enchanted Forest with her roommate-slash- _mother_.

God, she has a mother; a mother who might actually be younger than her. It's real.

And it's Regina's fault. Emma had saved her, too, and it may have cost her Henry anyway. Because it's been days and there's still no way home. There's only a compass being hunted after by a pirate who probably sails under a red flag and Regina's zombie-making mother. Henry's grandmother. God.

_It's real._

Emma can't focus on that. She keeps to tasks on hand until she's crawling out of a well and Henry's in her arms and she can breathe again. Everything else just sort of _fades_.

She can't even hold on to her anger toward Regina. Not when Regina smiles at her, genuinely smiles at her for probably the first time, and welcomes her back.

Emma can deal with Storybrooke. The ground is solid under her feet here. It feels like coming _home_.

*

Henry says his mom is trying to redeem herself. David says that's what Regina claims. Archie is steadfast and thinks she's trying to change. He tells Emma that they've been having sessions and that they're going well.

And Emma wants this. She wants this new take on reality to be true for Henry. Maybe for all of them.

Regina not framing anyone for murders that never happened and adding sleeping curses to her recipes would make everything a hell of a lot easier. And she is _trying_. Emma knows how hard it is to try and change on your own and fight to become someone better. Regina's trying. She's not bullshitting like Emma's used to. It's a start.

Emma invites her to dinner and hopes in a way she hasn't allowed herself to in months, and all of it is for naught.

People don't change. Not that drastically. Not that quickly. They'll only let you down.

Regina let's Henry down. Just when he's starting to believe in his mom again, she lies and now Archie is dead.

Emma ignores the fact that Henry's not the only one who was starting to believe. She shouldn't feel so betrayed. It's for Henry. Henry is who she's upset for.

*

Fate is bullshit. More and more it seems like her choices don't matter. If she's even given a choice at all, that is.

Emma had no choice in coming to New York or chasing down Neal. She also had no choice in Neal leaving her all because August told him that she had a destiny she never asked for.

Neal thinks their meeting–both times–is fate, and it's _bullshit_.

It brings ups too many questions and makes her think about things she typically doesn't even acknowledge. And worse, she's traveling with a man who might just have answers. Though, she doubts Gold is willing to give them.

She's below deck looking after him on a pirate ship (something else she hasn't had time to react to) while Henry learns to sail with Neal and maintains his cold shoulder. Emma longs, wrecked with guilt, but that isn't productive so she replaces it with anger. She wants to punch Gold in the face, and if he wasn't dying, she might have considered it.

Everything that's ever happened to her is because of the path this man put her on _before she was even born_.

And now–and now the only person she's ever loved, the only person she thought ever loved her, turns out to be his son. That can't be fate. She has proof that says otherwise, doesn't she?

"You made the curse with your magic. Just like a–a _spell_." She cannot believe these are words she's actually saying. "You designed everything for your benefit."

He glances her way, pressing rags to his wound and looks more frustrated with her than he has any right to. "Is there a question in there, Miss Swan?"

"Why keep soulmates?" That hadn't been her question, but she doesn't back away from it either because Neal must have known what her mark was, hadn't he? "That's something mostly from your world, right? They're just what? More magic?"

"Soulmates aren't magic," he grunts like she should already know this. "They're not true love. They're something else entirely."

"Like?"

He doesn't answer this time. He shifts, no longer frustrated with her yet still agitated.

 _He doesn't know_ , Emma realizes. Fine then. Backtrack.

"If the Dark Curse was supposed to take away everyone's happy endings, then wouldn't it have made more sense to get rid of them? The marks?"

"You don't _get rid_ of soulmates. And at any rate, you're asking the wrong person. _I_ did not cast the curse. For that, you're going to have to talk to Regina."

Emma groans at even just the thought. "Pass."

"Believe it or not, she was once quite the romantic." Emma doesn't. "Perhaps she was feeling nostalgic. Or maybe she thought it would be an added insult. Let everyone know they have a soulmate, but ensure no marks ever match the words spoken." It's sharp. He's too angry suddenly. It's too personal.

Emma eases. Smug bastard or not, Gold also suffered that particular slight under the curse. So maybe everyone from that world really does have one.

"Frankly, dearie, I'm far more curious about what brought on this inquiry. Could it be the return of yours?"

Her ease evaporates again at that. This is the second time Gold's implied she's still in love with Neal. Emma's never taken kindly to people telling her how she should be feeling. Besides. She has proof, and right now she clings to it in ways she probably never will again.

"My words aren't his."

She doesn't bother to stay for his reaction and lets the cabin door slam shut behind her. He'll survive to make it back to Storybrooke and find yet another loophole, she's sure.

*

She and Neal do eventually stumble back onto her words. She's _trying_. Everyone keeps insisting on it, Henry especially. She can talk to Neal now at least. She wants to know if he recognized who she was and where she was from before August found him. Emma wants to know why she never found any words on him.

"I lost mine," is what he tells her. He's not lying, she can still read him, but it sounds like _crap_.

"You lost them?" she repeats slowly, and Neal scratches at the back of his head, a sure sign he's uncomfortable with the conversation. That hasn't changed either.

"Yeah I, uh, I guess I really fucked with my timeline." He offers a pained smile. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Emma."

"And whose fault is that?" She bites down on her lip. Snapping at him is exactly what she's not supposed to be doing.

Neal's not offended, though, he never is, and that might be the most frustrating thing about him. She's not even sure he grasps what leaving her _meant_.

"I was gone from this world for a long time, and when I got back, the street lanterns were street lights. The carriages were cars. And my mark, it just disappeared like it had never been there at all." He buries his hands in his pockets, shrugging up his shoulders. "Whoever that person was, I must have missed them by a few years."

And there's a loss in that that's not hers to bear, but Emma feels it all the same. "Neal, I'm sorry."

"Why? Because you still have a soulmate out there?" He grins. "Don't be. Maybe you'll have better luck than I did. Besides, I'm doing alright."

And Emma really doesn't need any more reminders of Tamara and Neal and Tallahassee.

"But the whole soulmate thing? Isn't it supposed to be unbreakable? Like fate?"

"I guess." He pauses. "You know, if the only destiny I'm supposed to play a part in was Henry, then I'm not about to complain."

She forces a smile that Neal doesn't see through.

Henry wants to get to know his father, but Emma's still not sure if that's what she wants. She doesn't actually have a choice in the matter. Sometimes she wonders how this is any different than her coming to town and–

Emma doesn't know how to deal with any of this. The last thing she would have expected on top of dealing with meeting her parents and becoming a mom and being some savior for a bunch of Disney characters is _Neal_.

She wishes she never found him, and she feels ashamed immediately for the thought.

*

Everyone keeps saying magic is _emotion_ and that it always comes with a price which in itself is a sort of screwed up sentiment.

Especially when that price always seems to vary, and this time it's far too steep.

"I can't contain this much longer," Regina says, cutting through the dread.

It feels like the caves very well might collapse, yet it's quiet in this space between them when it shouldn't be. Storybrooke is being siphoned away, and this is the end. They're going to die here.

They've wasted so much time. They've never really gotten to be a family yet. She's been so hesitant–resistant–to seeing her parents as just that. She's known her mom more as Mary Margaret than she ever has as a mother. But she clings to them now as useless, frustrated tears begin to fall.

Henry leaves their embrace to join Regina. It's another exchange that's happening much too late, and she hurts for him. Henry and his staunch belief in what’s good and _right_ , who convinced a town full of heroes that they should come back here instead of fleeing to safety. Who was quick to label Regina a hero despite months of running the opposite way.

Except Regina's not strong enough to give him that right now no matter her wishes. God, she was prepared to die just so he'd see her as anything but a villain because Henry's faith and trust is _everything_. Emma knows Regina would try to the best of her abilities to gain it, even if it'd be a lie.

Emma would. _Emma has_.

And it's a whim, as hope so often has been in her life, but she catches Regina's eyes anyway. "You may not be strong enough, but maybe we are."

*

They don't talk about it. Not Regina nearly sacrificing herself to save everyone. Nor the fact that she had first planned to kill them all. And certainly not about the mines being cloaked in combined, winding magic, achieving the impossible.

Not that she and Regina ever talk much anyway, only when the world is falling down around them, but there feels like a particular avoidance here. It might be her doing. She can't really get a read on Regina right now, and Emma knows for sure, at least, that she doesn't want to talk about it.

She doesn't know anything about magic. She's not even sure how that conversation would _go_. Regina's supposed to be some all-powerful queen or whatever, and she's the savior so.

She's probably exaggerating.

It's good, though, because the closer they get to Neverland, the less she wants to talk about anything to anyone. She's not in the mood for much belated parental advice as if she hasn't already made an entire life for herself. And she's just…she's so done right now with the fairytale bullshit. She doesn't care about Captain Hook's feud with Rumplestiltskin or her mom and Regina going for round who knows what.

All Emma wants is Henry; Henry back safe and sound without a scratch on him.

She had no forethought going into this. It's not a situation anyone can plan for, only react to. But she assumed that just _maybe_ everyone one would be able to put aside their issues for a little while.

But the longer it takes to find Henry, even Emma gets caught up in distractions and outside noise and nothing else should be important right now.

They're almost too late.

They're almost too late but they'll fix this and save Henry, and Emma coaxes herself to stay calm, to think clearly. One of them needs to. Neal's… _Neal_. And Regina's bare and terrified and still _an ass_ , but Emma understands her like this. Regina has always been distinctively unguarded like this, approachable and _human_.

They've always managed to relate against odds when Henry's in danger. It's after when there's usually a fallout and they take several steps back. But this time once Henry is safe, Emma feels the stirrings of _hope_ again, foreign but enticing still.

She wants this. She wants to go home where Henry's family can be as big as he wants it to be. Where she and Regina can work in tandem to give him what he needs. Where things can quiet down and she can just be Sheriff again.

It's doesn't last.

She's not a sheriff. Emma's a savior, and saviors don't get days off. It never stops. Once again the world around them is going to cease to exist as they know it.

Regina says it's her price to pay, but it feels like it's all of theirs. They're bound to each other. That's never been more explicit. They're–they're a family. Henry's made them into one. And it's standing there at the town line with Regina promising her a future when it hits her. For all the resistance it suddenly seems like it's been inevitable.

They're connected again. It's stronger than any magic in the mines. _It's Henry_. They share a son. In one of the least traditional ways imaginable but he's chosen them both now. He's theirs.

They've never really acknowledged that before, not like today. Not in a way that goes deeper than figuring out their mess of a family tree.

Emma did not finish bringing back the happy endings. They're an ambiguous concept. Emma's never even thought of her own, and what comes to mind is probably not something she'd ever willingly discuss. But Regina knows; is the only one who possibly could know.

Henry.

To have never given him up.

For the first time, they're in the same place. Emma can't believe they've finally reached the only understanding that could ever possibly matter, and they're losing it before it can even be explored.

And it's a small thought that's lost in everything else, in Henry clinging to Regina and her mom kissing her goodbye, but–but for a moment it pierces her anyway.

It figures.

*

She has a tattoo she has no memory of getting. She thinks it happened before Neal, maybe. She would have remembered if it happened with Neal. If they had been like normal couples their age and got matching ink, she at least would have spent nine months regretting it every day. So. Before Neal. And definitely before Henry, before any and all reckless decisions were rendered impossible.

She can't remember when she even first noticed it. A year ago when they moved to New York is the first time she can really recall even contemplating it, but anything before that exists in a haze.

If Emma's honest with herself, there's a lot about her life with Henry before they moved to New York that's foggy. She remembers everything important in great detail. His first words, his first steps, his first day of school. But what's in between, the mundane of their daily lives, it feels intangible.

She's happy. Henry's happy. She can't remember ever being happier. That's enough, more than, and the rest of it is irrelevant.

Still, she traces it sometimes, like muscle memory. It feels marred almost, not like any tat she's ever touched. Late at night when doubts manage to creep in about Walsh or the agency, it's become an anxious habit. She doesn't understand the content warmth it provides. 

How can a tattoo feel like Henry's hugs or taking the bug out of the garage for weekend drives?

*

Emma gets her memories back. Hook travels worlds to find her because her family is in trouble.

Impending doom aside that was the last thing she remembers feeling before leaving for a new future with Henry. All she had wanted in that moment was to one day be reunited with her family.

But that was before.

That was before a year away from magic and curses and movie villains and kidnappings. This past year has been unlike any other. Emma got her life together after juvie, but she had done so alone. To have Henry with her this time…life in Storybrooke can't compare to it.

All that happiness she and Henry had embodied in New York is being slowly chipped away at, and it's replaced with an overwhelming sense of loss.

Someone she trusted and let into her life and was starting to envision a future with turned out to be a lie. Mary Margaret is pregnant. Heavily. They didn't even _wait_.

Neal's dead.

Emma doesn't know which direction to go in. Her parents are–

She's lying to Henry every day. Hook feels easy until he's not; until he's asking for more than she's willing to give. Regina's not easy, never easy, but she's also not pressuring Emma for anything. Right now, she may be the only one.

It shouldn't be like this. But it exists unspoken between them now, the acceptance that they're both driven by the same thing. That their idea of a happy ending is the same thing.

She can't think about it. If she does, then everything she plans on doing, what she wants to do more than anything…she'd have to give it up. And Emma's not sure she can do that now. So she doesn't think about it.

But when she does–in the middle of dinner when Mary Margaret gets up to pee every five minutes, when Henry knows exactly where everything is in the grocery store–god, when does, Emma can't even fathom it. She can't imagine Henry having no memory of who she is or any of their time spent together.

She has memories of raising Henry now and they're not even _real_ , but the loss of them has sent her into a tailspin. She has no idea how Regina's coping with any of this or how she even survived the year. And it's not exactly like Emma can ask. 

They can get something, anything, accomplished at least. Focusing on taking care of Zelena is steadying. Emma can breathe while learning magic. So long as Regina is not trying to kill her in the process.

And there's a story there. Regina keeps making vague references to Gold's tutelage that Emma doesn't know what to make of. She had just sort of assumed Regina's magic was part of the whole quest-for-vengeance-and-destroying-Snow-White thing. Henry's book had never been too clear on the details leading up to that. Henry's book never spent much time on Regina at all.

"It's a very simplistic retelling," is what Regina tells her.

"So why did you," she gestures in place of words.

Regina clearly debates with herself for a moment whether or not to answer, and it feels close to success when she eventually does, even as clipped as it is.

"Shortly before the wedding, my mother put up a barrier around the kingdom. I was not allowed to leave without being in the presence of the king. Then I was married, and it was not so different even without my mother's magic."

There's a forced detachment in it. Not a lie, no, but a half-truth maybe. By now she knows the other woman's tells. She can spot the squared shoulders, the fleeting eye contact, and Emma thinks that maybe _simplistic_ doesn't begin to cover it. She'll never quite know what to make of that world or all that it entailed or the mislaid guilt over preferring this one. 

"I hadn't even wanted to use magic," Regina continues. "I hated it at the time. _She_ used it. The first time I summoned Rumplestiltskin, I had hoped he'd free me from my mother. He insisted I do it myself. And I did."

"Good." And having spent mere minutes in Cora's presence, she means that. Regina looks up, surprised by the earnest tone, as though she wouldn't have expected anyone to agree with that particular choice.

She shakes it off. "After, I learned that Rumple wanted me to assist him in something. That was the price of him teaching me magic. It was only much later when I finally figured out what that was."

"The curse."

"The curse," she repeats archly.

"He trained you to cast it and designed the whole thing so I would break it. We're a fucking two-for-one special."

Regina snorts. "That's one way of putting it."

Yeah. One way.

But sometimes–sometimes it's just _them_ and what they can do, and Emma doesn’t know how she'd define that if anyone asked. She probably wouldn't bother.

Her doing magic at all has been a limited experience, and her only point of comparison to working with a partner is Gold telling her to draw on the ground with invisible chalk.

She usually tells herself it's nothing. She's met Regina's mother and now her sister, it seems to run in the family, and she knows Gold. Regina's probably done more impressive magic with people who actually know what they're doing. Moving the moon and stopping impossible triggers is probably not totally limited to Emma.

But there are instances when she can't help but wonder if it's more than that. If Regina feels it too. _Them_. But they're not exactly about to discuss that either.

Emma gets her answer anyway. It comes in the form of Robin Hood and what looks like new love. Regina's glowing with it, really. Happy in a way Emma's never seen her before.

Happy in a way Emma absolutely is not. 

*

Soulmates. That's the rumor mill. The fairies are abuzz with the tale about how Tinker Bell had lost her wings. That Blue removed them as punishment and a word of caution many years ago after Tinker Bell had stolen pixie dust to help Regina find her soulmate.

Emma no longer sees the point of these damned marks if you can just use some jacked up fairy dust as a magical breadcrumb trail.

Archie's been around more since Henry regained his memories. He's helping him adjust all while making unsubtle offers to Emma that go ignored. He's sure to mention how great he thinks it is that Regina's ready to open herself back up to love. He says it will be good in keeping her on the right path. It's, well. _Archie_ is at least easy to tune out.

Mary Margaret's _thrilled_ for her. She's probably more excited for Regina than she would be if Emma found her own prince to sweep her off her feet. She's proud, nearly bragging about how she knew something was _there_ before they all lost their memories with the curse.

"They barely even met, and they were already working so well together," she says, and Emma can't help the wry, "Guess that explains how she survived the year," in response.

Mary Margaret's ensuing disappointment is too similar to when she figured out that Emma doesn't plan on staying. It's too much, and Emma ducks out before they can get into it. The baby needs a feeding anyway.

Henry's no better. He's in awe of the famed Robin Hood immediately.

"Mom will say no at first, but I think if I give it a few weeks, she'll warm up to the idea. I mean, I never moved past wooden swords so a real bow would be awesome!"

"Why don't you just ask your–Mary Margaret to teach you?"

" _Mom_ ," and Emma doesn't fight the smile that brings. No crisis, no fake memories, and she's still _Mom_. Though, two 'Mom's might get confusing. Maybe she and Regina should talk about that.

"It's _Robin Hood_ ," Henry continues. "He's, like, the greatest archer ever."

Emma's sure that's not true. There has to be someone out there who's _real_ that is better at firing arrows. So far all Emma's seen is Robin Hood getting knocked on his ass.

But Henry's beaming and he's been so…subdued without his memories and _he isn't in the same place as her._

"You're okay with this? With your mom seeing someone?"

His grin lessons some, thinking through his answer as he shrugs. "She seems really happy with him. I've never seen her like that before."

And that–that for whatever reason has her heart sinking into her stomach like a knife. She's had the same thought herself, and it shouldn't be a shock that anyone shares it. She's not–it's–and Regina is–she can't think about Regina. Henry. This is about Henry. Storybrooke is his home. That becomes clearer every day, every hour, and if given the choice, he isn't going to come with her, is he?

Emma can't stay here, and she can't leave without him. Storybrooke is a world away from what became home.

Her parents have a _baby_. He's small and wonderful and safe, and Emma can't even hold him. They're getting a second chance at the family they wanted, and a part of her is happy for them, she is. But a larger part–she doesn't understand any of it.

She missed ten years of Henry's life. She never changed his diapers. She didn't teach him how to ride a bike. She has no idea if he's ever broken a bone. What any of his Halloween costumes were. And Emma never held him either.

She missed out on ten years of his life. She'd give anything to have experienced them, for the memories to be _real_ , but to try and replace them with a new baby has never once entered her mind. And if it did, she highly doubts it'd only be weeks after ever being separated from him.

Then, Emma never would have volunteered to stay in Neverland while he sailed home either.

They gave her away for her best chance and so she could one day return to save them. Emma's not even sure if she's still their savior. Her magic is gone. It was Regina's light magic that was prophesied to defeat Zelena. Regina was the one to break the curse. Giving true love's kiss to Henry isn't even Emma's one, big accomplishment anymore.

They all have their own new, little families now. Or they will eventually. Henry and Regina and the soulmate.

At most, the only thing Emma could call her own her is… _Hook_. A pirate with a drinking problem who claims to have changed for her. Who thinks because of one ill-timed kiss she's his second chance at true love. Who spends far too much time telling her how she feels. But he's there at least.

He's been there for her every time she's asked since coming back, more so when she hasn't. He knew Neal. There have been times when he's the only other person that really seems to understand what losing him felt like. Hook still sees her as the savior and finds value in the title. And he's trying to get her to stay.

He's trying to remind her that home is with her family. She knows he's mostly only doing so because he wants her to stay with him, she does, but that can't be the only reason. As much as she wishes he'd stop, it still means _something_.

It means something that he's willing to babysit Henry and reunite lost lovers and follow her down time portals.

*

She thinks she understands now. Why so many people in Storybrooke wanted to come back here. Why her parents were growing a field of magic beans.

And even more so, why Regina turned that field to ash.

A fully functional Enchanted Forrest is much preferable to the one that had been desolate and overrun with ogres. 

This is what her life would have been, could have been. She would have been the beloved daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. Not a savior but a princess. They would have thrown her her own balls. She would have ridden in carriages and danced with handsome men and wore dresses too heavy and hid from Evil Queens and…glam rock Dark Ones. But she never would have had Henry.

There's no Henry here, and all of it is meaningless without him. Emma would relive every nightmare, every loss, every lonely night, every awful thing that's ever happened to her since being shoved into a _fucking tree_ if Henry's the end result.

She almost wishes he was the one stuck here with her. He'd get a kick out of all of this, and no one knows the stories in his book better than he does. She needs to get back to him. She needs to get–to get home.

She and Hook get one step closer to that at least. Emma has her father's ring, the one that true love is supposed to follow. The one that will one day be enchanted to lead him right to Mary Margaret. That had always been Henry's favorite detail of her parents' story.

Hook gives her a chance to slip away, staying behind to fight off a few guards. They work well like this, she thinks vaguely, trying to dredge up memories of outsmarting a giant. Life made her a loner through circumstance, but Emma's always worked better with a partner in action.

The relief of getting closer to home is short-lived. She doesn't get far. Emma runs into more guards. Into a vendetta that precedes her by decades. Into a _moment_ , in which there is no before, only after. Like choosing her last name and stealing a stolen car and _My name's Henry. I'm your son._

Life is made up of them.

A faceless knight dressed all in black accosts her. It's only seconds before she's surrounded, Regina not far behind.

"Going somewhere?"

And Emma knows these words. These two, unremarkable words and her name stitched into a baby blanket are all she's carried with her her whole life.

It shouldn't occur to her. That's the last place her mind should go. She's known Regina for years. Yet it's deafening.

 _Damning_.

"Regina. I-"

But this isn't Regina. This is nothing but edges sharp enough to slice yourself on. A side to her that Emma was said to have known but never truly has.

"-is a bit informal, wouldn't you say? Show some respect. It's _Your Majesty_." The Black Knights seize her, and Emma struggles to break free. Regina encroaches, eyes raking, and this…this at least Emma knows. "You're not going anywhere. Snow White may have left the party early, but I suspect your night has just begun."

*

They're teleported back to Regina's kingdom. Emma's dress is replaced. She's left in the hands of faceless knights. Regina disappears. A dungeon awaits.

Not a single moment of it registers. She's still in a ballroom.

She's in a ballroom and ten feet from the town line. In the mines and in the hospital. With Henry safe on the _Jolly Roger_. She's in Regina's front yard bringing Henry home where words don't fit and no longer sound the same. Emma's in a thousand different places.

It doesn't mean anything.

It can't mean anything.

*

It could mean everything.

*

Regina won't speak to her. Not even to say something insulting.

She blames Emma for the loss of a happy ending, the loss of a–a soulmate. There's an irony in there somewhere, Emma's sure. She needs to fix this. The savior's meant to bring back the happy endings not take them away. She brought back Maid Marian's and destroyed everything else.

Regina will have hers.

Emma's not even sure how or when that became so important to her. But it doesn't feel like a savior obligation. It's not a measuring stick like it once felt with Henry before she broke the curse. It feels like Regina holding her hand at the town line and promising Henry and Emma a future.

In lonely moments after Henry moves back home or when her parents wave Mr. Foofoo in front of the baby, Emma wonders if she just imagined it. If there's nothing to salvage.

They can be friends again at least. If they even were. Emma thinks they were. Her last friend turned out to be her mother, and she hasn't really had any others since she was a kid, so it's very possible she imagined all of it.

That they were never anything like friends, barely even working partners. That her mark isn't–

No. Not the mark. Never the–Even when she _tries_ , Emma can't pretend she only imagined hearing Regina say her words.

*

She thinks about it more than she'd care to admit. It's not fair. She's been dealt a share of bad hands in her life, and she never thinks of it that way. Plenty of people catch bad breaks, and you can fight back against them, be stronger for it.

But this is something else and it's _not fair_. She never asked for a soulmate and would rather not even have one, yet she does and somehow only Emma's mark is one-sided?

She can't even talk to anyone to check if that's possible. Her mom would…Emma settles for Hook.

There's a fleeting moment where she almost regrets asking. Their relationship so far has been a balancing act for both of them, but it's been easy again in recent days. Storybrooke's been remarkably uneventful since Zelena, and she and Hook have followed suit.

He's predictable in that he's not going anywhere. She's not sure anything outside of their dating even matters to him. Emma learns quickly to ignore whatever alarms that sets off and takes comfort in having someone of her own to unwind with after a shift. Because it _is_ nice. She has a lot here in town, more than she's ever had anywhere, but she also never has much respite from it. Hook just…he always seems to exist so tangentially from Storybrooke unless Emma includes him.

Tonight, though, they trip up again. _Soulmates_ is uttered, and Hook draws away. He flexes his hand and pulls it back before thinking better of it. Still, his hook grazes over his jacket briefly; over a forearm where she knows he has a tribute to someone he loved. She's tries to remember if she had seen anything else written under his tattoo beyond _Milah_ , but it had been dark and she hadn't been looking.

Emma almost takes it back, but he recovers as he always seems to do, aims for inviting. "I wouldn't have thought you'd be one to put much merit behind the marks. Perhaps I'll make a romantic out of you yet, Swan."

"I– _don't_. But I'm…Have there ever been marks that don't match? Like, unrequited soulmates?" Hook's bemused, and she joins him in it. This is beginning to sound more ridiculous by the minute. "I just, what if your soulmate already has a soulmate? One that…isn't you? Has that happened before?"

Hook's discomforted as it's clear she's looking for an answer. "Not that I can recall. Besides, wouldn't that defeat the purpose? Mates are as they're defined. And as a pirate I feel I have that under good authority." He grins. "Why the sudden interest? Looking for someone without a soulmate to match to? Just what are your words?" He looks her over curiously.

Emma puts an end to _that_ before it even starts. "No. It's just something I was thinking about earlier. Forget about it."

"Gladly. There's a touch too much sentimentality behind love at first sight. I'd rather work for it than have some force lay it out for me. It's limiting. Think of when we met. Would you have ever believed we'd end up here?"

No, no she wouldn't have. But that's a thought she'd rather pay no mind to as it would bring about others that are still as valid today as they were then.

He's lying.

Hook's always so self-assured that sometimes he isn't easy to get a read on, but of this right now, she's sure. He has always downplayed his remembrances. He's denied being sentimental before, and it's one of the few things they may actually have in common. She knows that fear. She knows that it's easier to hide everything away than risk losing anyone else.

She's been on his ship. She's seen the drawings and the trinkets and old clothes folded as though with importance. None of his keepsakes had monetary value. They were personal. He kept Neal with him through a cutlass for years, and, god, _he gave all of that up for her._

He chose her. He's put her first before everything. It's unheard of in her life, and so far fate has brought nothing good beyond Henry. Emma would rather have a choice of her own for once. _Working for_ something, even _this_ –something she's still unsure of, she needs to see through.

*

So Emma doesn't give up. She plants her feet firmly in town. There's no running anymore. And all of the less-than-pleasant outcomes fate and villains-of-the week toss her way will just need to be accepted from now on.

She vows to put the whole non-soulmates reveal out of her mind for good. She decides it's most likely a wonky side effect of time-traveling which is sort of what happened with Neal, and his words disappeared. Emma's resolved to the fact that hers will eventually do the same. _The sooner the better, really_.

It doesn't matter.

What matters is getting Regina to believe that does in fact have her back. It's helping Regina try and save Marian when her heart begins to reject this timeline and getting a begrudging _I don't want to kill you_ in return. It's the tentative offer of _Shots?_ when Marian can't be saved and Robin chooses to leave town with his family. It's being invited into the fold of Operation Mongoose and taking control of their own fate for a change.

*

For the first time since Emma kissed Henry's forehead and sent all of their lives spiraling, Storybrooke begins to calm. Gold's gone. There's no one plotting against them. No one's being kidnapped or tortured or falling into portals. Their memories are all intact. It's…normal. Their lives finally resemble the normalcy she and Henry had in New York during their perfect year.

Her mom gives up her position as mayor and goes back to teaching. She quietly hands the responsibility back to Regina so she can have an easier schedule for the baby. Killian acclimates to living at Granny's and easy coffee dates before work. (Dating, Emma finds, winds up being much simpler once there's a routine in place and no pressures to conform are being placed over her.)

Their lives are neatly packed together now, and she can almost feel herself starting to envision a future. The only loose end left to tie up is… _well_.

Emma's persistent and takes initiative. She scours the Sorcerer's mansion for clues as doggedly as she does Storybrooke housing records. This isn't magic. This is what she spent years doing before moving here, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like she has a leg up on Regina. This is her wheelhouse. She can be useful and live up to her promise. And if Emma just so happens to impress her son and his less-than-easily impressed mother along the way, then that's all the more reason.

Henry jokes that she's spending more time on Operation Mongoose than he is which is…not entirely true and also _shuddup, kid_. The last thing Emma wants is to come on too strong. Regina reacts to pressure about as well as Emma does, and they had only just patched up their rift or whatever. It's been going so well even if, despite her prowess, the author doesn't prove easy to find.

And okay there are times, only a few that are swiftly chased away with shame, when Emma maybe sort of doesn't care so much about that.

The deeper they get into their quest, it become less of an operation and more…idyll. The three of them together are variations on a theme of stubbornness, and the dead ends don't deter them. But there's only so much they can do within a day.

So instead, scouring is sometimes trying to figure out Henry's algebra together. Sometimes it's pancakes at Granny's. Sometimes it's Regina watching her with open curiosity and sharing hard-earned smiles that finally reach beyond her mouth to her eyes. Sometimes it's a fleeting want that sounds an awful lot like we could be your happy ending.

Which is not ideal and also probably not her fault. (Emma has started to suspect that having someone's mark might influence otherwise normal feelings for them. She's reluctant to look into it.)

Still, she grows bolder. _Do you want to have lunch today?_ is met with an eye-roll and _A midday sugar rush is not my idea of lunch._ She chuckles, _Live a little._ Regina doesn’t budge, _A little is exactly how long I'll live should I start modeling my diet after yours._

Then it's a challenge like boots on cars and chainsaws against trees, _Square._

So then it's six weeks of lunches during work and dinners to discuss latest theories and drinks while skimming over Henry's storybook. It's late nights and growing trust and _Moms, look_.

It's six weeks of _hope_ that feels tangible and close to actualization and nothing like dull sentiment. It's six weeks of maybe unearthing actual happiness before things take a turn for the worse as they always do.

Of course.

*

Everybody's lying to her. Hook's angsting over some shared past with Ursula. Her mom and dad aren't sleeping through the night, and it can no longer be blamed on a crying infant. They're more on edge than Emma can ever remember seeing them. Regina's had the bright idea of going undercover to work alongside villains she used to call friends. She claims it's to find the author, but Emma's no longer so sure.

There's something else. There has to be. But Regina hasn't told her. She holds herself back every time they speak, visibly restrained in doing so, and Emma just wants to _help_. Instead, she's left with nothing but frustrated panic and parents who look at her like she's grown a second head in its wake.

The truth closes in before Emma's prepared for it, and then there's news from New York.

*

As it turns out, Marian's heart never rejected this timeline because she was never Marian at all. Zelena's apparent disguise simply became too difficult to control in Storybrooke, and there are masks being torn off in every direction Emma turns.  

She made the mistake once before she knew any better of idolizing a woman who felt close enough to what a mother should be. It was only the third home in her life and the first after being returned from what was supposed to be her forever home. These fosters were a younger couple who were easy to talk to and actually knew how to have _fun_. They were a little on the hippie-ish side of things, accepting, and seemed to glow around each other. All was well until one day Emma and two of the older kids spotted their foster mom kissing a man who most certainly was not her husband.

Emma was careful to never place anyone on even the lowest of pedestals again after that. She's not sure _what_ she expected from her actual parents except maybe not kidnapping a baby, stuffing it full of darkness, and then making this all about Emma instead of the life they destroyed.

Not just any life. _Lily's._ Lily, who begged her to understand. Lily, who Emma turned her back on without ever second guessing the decision. Everything she's tried to be since turning her life around was built on someone else's loss and misfortune.

Emma hits her limit. Cruella dies by her hand, and she and Regina are on the road trip from hell when a Lily searching for vengeance nearly joins her.

*

It's late by the time the start out for New York. There were talks of getting a motel room for the night that were quickly quashed. There wasn't _time_ , and it's not a setup that would have worked anyway.

Bunking with Lily after too many years away and an earlier murder attempt would have been a few too many steps past awkward, even for Emma's life. And sharing a bed with Regina…It teeters too much on top of occasional (lately regular) and unwanted dreams of Regina underneath her, above her, inside her–curled up next to her filling out city budgets while Emma scribbles over half written police reports.

So they stick to the road. They're supposed to be rotating naps, and Lily manages to crash in the backseat of the bug without issue (the spitting image of long forgotten daydreams), but Emma and Regina are both still too on edge to get any rest. 

It doesn't help that Regina's stare keeps finding her, each time with the same look of concern. And if everyone could stop looking at her like she's a ticking time bomb, that'd be great.

"I know earlier was…intense, but I'm fine, Regina, really. You don't need to worry about me."

"You don't need to hold a gun to someone's chest for me to be worried about you," she responds dryly. 

"I don't know why I…It would have been easier, I guess." Her parents, no matter how angry she is with them, would have been safe. A threat dealt with in a moment as easily as Cruella was.

She's suddenly nauseous.

"It typically is. Doing the right thing is rarely the easier choice."

"I'm not going to…go dark or whatever. I know everyone's worried I'll snap or-" _shoot an old friend_. But Regina got her through that one. "I won't do Gold's bidding."

" _Gold_ isn't going to give up. Before we left he offered me a deal to save Robin or help put you down the path he wants."

"Help? Regina." Her attention snaps over to her, alarmed. She can't imagine what Regina must have been thinking in that moment. Having to make a choice between–

Emma might actually finally punch Gold in the face the next time she sees him.

But Regina gets the wrong idea in the face of Emma's distress. "I wouldn't," she says immediately before chuckling wryly. "I don't even think I _could_. You're," her eyes are searching–gleaming, really–over Emma's features, and Emma has to look away back to road, " _good_. In ways Rumple probably doesn’t even recognize."

"Yeah, well, my parents pretty much ensured that."

"Emma," she sighs. "You can't honestly believe that's why you're-"

And Emma's never really had time for any extolling of _the savior_ , but Regina's the last person she wants it from on a normal day, let alone a day like this.

"We're going to save Robin too. I still have to make good on my promise." She flashes her a tight smile, hoping the deflection sticks. But Regina just looks so _weary_ when Emma glances over, and for a moment, she wonders. "If that's…This is still what you want, right?" 

Operation Mongoose has never been about Regina's love life, exactly, it's only a piece to a larger puzzle. They've been searching for the author for weeks, and it's never been with the thought of Robin Hood returning in mind. He was meant to be starting over with his family. She hadn't considered that maybe Regina's vision of her happy ending had changed accordingly.

And now she considers a world where soulmates just…don't have to matter.

"It's my second chance," Regina finally begins quietly, and Emma's thoughts are silenced. "After everything I've done, I'm never going to have what your idiot parents do or what you deserve to. Robin is a good man who never looks at me and sees the Evil Queen, and his life is about to be pulled out from under him because of it."

"That's not your fault."

"Maybe not this time. But Zelena did this to hurt me, not them. We should be able to build something again in spite of her efforts. It's…Things can be as they were once meant to."

"Okay." Emma grips the steering wheel, not aggravated exactly, just a bit lost maybe. "But do you ever," she bites her lip. Neither have ever had the opportunity to turn away from as much as they do now. To not readily accept it is a betrayal, almost. To ask for _more_ is too much of a risk. But it's the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. "Do you ever wonder if they could be better?"

She'll decide tomorrow it's because she was obviously delirious. Emma's only functioning on lukewarm coffee and probably shouldn't even be behind the wheel. But Emma contemplates, _so so foolishly_ , for a moment just telling her that she's Emma's–That the botched time-traveling led to more unwanted reveals than Zelena being alive.

And so they don't match. So pixie dust went in an entirely different direction. So Emma has Regina's mark while she has someone else's. _So what_ , it's still something. Another option where fate and soulmates _don't have to matter_. Maybe it'd just make things even more complicated, but who knows. Regina might not even care. It can just be another _You think it was a coincidence that I just so happened to adopt the savior's son?_ But what if–

_What if._

Except Regina never responds. Of course not. Regina's already been fighting so hard for this, and she's no more prone to quitting than Emma is. Instead, she sits, pained and contemplative, watching the roadside speed past them; never managing that nap.

Soon, it's only occasional static and quiet talk radio filling the silence in the bug. Then, New York and second chances that feel like last chances are upon them and Zelena's _pregnant_ , and Emma has to wonder how this could ever possibly be a happy ending for anyone involved.

*

There's a moment of clarity on the drive home.

They hit up a much needed rest stop for Roland and to stretch their legs. Emma sticks with Lily in the guise of making sure she doesn't bolt but really she wants some space. 

Regina assists Robin in getting Roland in and out of a grimy restroom without issue. Their interactions are stilted but there's an obvious warmth that envelops them when they're alone together. A family in the making.

And Zelena's an obstacle and everything's a mess and the author is in Gold's clutches but–

But this is what Emma promised her, isn't it? A happy ending. A happy ending with someone Regina loves, with her actual fate-picked soulmate.

She wonders briefly if Lily's destiny being just as screwed up and entwined in hers means her words lead to absolutely no one either. Something tells her Lily wouldn't care as much as Emma's unfortunately grown to.

Lily catches her line of sight, wiggles her wrist until Emma looks back up, and smirks. "Have you met them yet?"

Unwittingly her gaze drifts back to Regina who's busy buttoning Roland's tiny jacket while glaring over his head at Zelena still sitting primly in the backseat. 

"No. I haven't met her."

"Her?"

Emma silently curses herself, but doesn't bother acknowledging it, heading back to the bug. It'll still be hours before they hit Storybrooke, and this day has already gone on for far too long.

*

It's acceptance not resignation. Emma's more than familiar with the difference between the two by this point in her life. Acceptance is welcomed. It's on her terms. It's her choice.

She can accept the way things have turned out. She has a home and a family who loves her and a purpose. It's what she's spent her whole life looking for. Having to even push herself into acceptance instead of being immediately grateful is beyond self-centered. She has so much now. It's not her place to–

She starts by forgiving her parents. She kind of figures no parent wants their kid to stop viewing them as heroes, especially when they're _literal_ heroes. What they did was awful but human, and they're trying to make amends in their own way. Lily gets a second chance with her mom now, and there are already talks of finding her birthfather. Everything is beginning to feel perfectly slotted.

_The way it's meant to be._

They can do this. She can do this. Regina has her menace of a sister, but she finally has her happy ending. After all the pain and loss she and Robin have endured, they can have something _good_ now.

Emma can even start thinking about her own happy ending now, whatever that might be. She can run around alternate universes and return to what feels like love. Killian sees their future, and she can finally let herself follow him into it. She's so tired of the amount of effort it takes in allowing herself to be dependent. Letting go of her doubts and just _falling_ could be liberating, she thinks.

It's _enough_. It's more than anything else she's ever had.

*

She almost had _more_ once. She almost had everything right from the beginning.

But a man with darkness in his veins sought a curse and a queen sought her happy ending and Emma was sacrificed at the hands of both.

*

Funny.

*

She's so angry with her.

Emma's not even sure where it's coming from. In Camelot–

She felt it when Regina claimed to be the savior. It was too much like a truth better forgotten from when Regina was busy saving Henry and Storybrooke and breaking curses while Emma did nothing except lose her magic and run away. But she buried the anger then.

It showed itself to her again when she saved Robin, but fear drove it away. _No_. Not fear. Enthrallment for magic that need not be learned had eclipsed it. It was easy to ignore the anger in Camelot. Nights in Camelot prickled with darkness and venom but there was clarity, too.

For the first time in a long time, Emma didn't feel the overpowering need to concern herself with Regina. It was freeing, briefly.

In Storybrooke it lurks. It creeps into every exchange Emma tries to avoid having in the first place. She wants to lash out. She wants to see Regina fail at something. Anything. At being the hero the town needs.

Emma has never been very good at it as much as her parents and Henry and Killian believed it, once believed in her. She's only ever struggled with being the savior. Why should it be so easy for anyone else? For Regina of all people?

But Regina survives the Fury, reverses Emma's magic with aplomb, and learns truths as though they were never hidden from her at all.

And Emma can't yield to the uselessness of marks and soulmates when quiet misery is so much more pervasive.

"Maybe you're the one causing pain," she says, and it may very well be the first honest thing she's said in weeks.

It might not be fair either. Some small part of her buried under layers of slight and darkness knows that. But the rest of her doesn't care because everything _hurts_. And it has for a while. Since long before she picked up a dagger.

*

(In Camelot, Regina wields a dagger as easily as she does promises. Emma steals a girl's heart to break her son's. And Killian nearly dies until he comes back and isn't Killian at all.

Fuck Camelot.)

*

He hates her, she thinks. He once told her she was his happy ending but turns away from it now, and Emma takes his memories so he won't know he ever hated her.

She kisses him the first chance they have alone together after he casts his curse, and she thinks it'll work. That there will be lights and magic and reprieve. He never wanted her to be the Dark One, and this isn't like Camelot where she was still holding on to too many insecurities. She wants nothing more than to break the shared curse on each of them.

It should work.

But he doesn't love her when she's like this. He says so plainly.

Then Zelena gifts him a dreamcatcher and the truth, and Killian says much more.

Hook looks right through her like she's _nothing_ (she was never nothing) and lashes out when he doesn't. He wants to hurt her as she hurt him, but Emma doesn't imagine that's possible.

This is all her fault. She made him like this because she believed she could save him. She still believes that. She'll fix this. Killian will be alive, they can start their future together, and everything she's done–all the lies–won't have been for nothing.

She believes that until it puts her family in danger and is willing to sacrifice herself once more. But Killian saves them. The man who loves her returns and is lost again just as quickly.

*

Emma's nightmares come frequently once they get to the Underworld. She sees her mother being torn away by monsters and feels the helplessness of not being able to save her, and Regina thinks she has _issues_.

She dreams of Killian lying beneath her with an easy smile of _I'm a survivor_ until it shifts and there's no longer a smile but an incurable wound and _I don’t want to become that_ ; until there's more blood before _Let me die a hero_.

And then sometimes it isn't Killian at all. Sometimes it's Neal telling her to find Tallahassee and a desperate plea of _He died a hero. You can't take that away from him_. Sometimes it's not darkness being born from a sword but being drawn to a dagger with the inevitability of _You've worked too hard to have your happiness destroyed._ Sometimes she doesn't believe she ever sat with someone dying for her and said _That's not enough for me_ at all.

She's been so selfish, and she thinks they must all know it too. That she's weak. That she isn't a hero at all. That they've all sacrificed too much for her by coming with.

That she isn't worth this.

*

Hades wants to surface, and Mary Margaret is able to escape before him so little Neal isn't alone anymore. David's almost brother nearly kills him and is instead lost to a river along with the last woman Killian loved. Belle puts herself under a sleeping curse to protect her unborn baby while Robin scrambles in the woods trying to protect his own infant who doesn't even have a name yet.

None of this is Emma's fault exactly, but the consequences of her choices are beginning to stack up too high to justify them or that she didn't just do this alone.

"I'm sorry," she says, breaking a quiet moment in the loft; needing to find forgiveness from _someone_.  

David frowns. "For what?"

"You're stuck down here, and I don't know, none of this has gone the way I thought it would."

"And how was that?" It's not an accusation like she expects. All she sees is compassion on her dad's face as he waits for an answer.

She doesn't have one. She doesn't know how she could ever possibly have one for him. It's not something her parents could ever understand. They met and fell in love and all of their obstacles were external.

She thinks of how easy everything must have been before that. In between false fathers and evil step-mothers, they had marks that matched and never had to question anything else. Fate has never been as kind to Emma, but she can still have someone who loves her, is devoted to her, and has changed for her. She can have someone she loves and can at least try to be as devoted to him. That's close enough, isn't it?

(She thinks of how her mom's mark was different when she got back from her time-travel interference. Emma thinks everything could have been really fucking perfect if she had never time-traveled at all.)

She shrugs. "You and Mom found each other, and everything else just worked out, right?"

He takes a deep breath, thinking it over before tossing out a tentative blow. "I'm not sure your mother and I ever would have put each other through what you and Hook have."

Emma gapes, stung. And it's _true_ but–but it isn't. "It's…we've forgiven each other."

They haven't actually apologized or talked about anything that's transpired. Not how quick he was to push her away again and trust in his brother's opinion that she isn't good enough for him. Not Killian marking her family for his current fate. Not Emma going against his dying wishes. Twice. But he relented and isn't angry anymore. He acknowledged that she only chose the darkness out of love and finally seemed gratified enough.

And if she thinks too hard about the other truth in that statement, she might dissolve into hysterics.

David brings her back to the present with a comforting grip on her shoulders. "You don't have to apologize for letting us help you." He smiles the Dad Smile. "I was so worried in Camelot when you told us Hook was a Dark One. But you trusted us this time. We're in this together."

Emma tucks herself into his arms for an easy hug, resolved once more to see this to the bitter end.

*

The moment of truth tears her in half with a pain incomparable to anything she's ever felt before.

"Regina," she gasps and clutches urgently onto Killian's jacket sleeve, holding herself upright.

There's a moment when he appears alarmed, but it shifts away just as quickly. Killian only looks dazed, just like he has since they got here. Just like he has every time she's tried to convince him to return with her.

Nauseous, she drops away from him.

"Regina," she repeats, and she can't breathe until her heart is whole and returned to her chest.          

Regina hangs on, whispering gentle words to her that she doesn't hear and her family is watching in growing concern and Emma _panics_. She can't be here anymore. She needs to get away.

Magic is different in the Underworld. It's hard to get a hold on and her emotions harder still. She teleports without thinking about it, aiming vaguely for _home_. Regina's still holding her, and they wind up in this world's warped version of the loft.

"A little warning next time," Regina says, which is rich considering the amount of times she has poofed away from difficult conversations.

"I don't understand. Why didn't it work?" Emma retreats and paces and comes back desperate as ever. "We have to try again."  

"Have you lost your mind?"

"It worked for my parents."

"David lost his _heart_." It's the first signs of anger that Regina or anyone has shown since arriving here, and, _god_ , they're all going to be so angry with her. "His body was left behind. Hook died from a neck wound. His body is currently rotting away in Storybrooke's morgue."

"Then why did you even come?" Emma snaps because _why_ , really. Why can't things, for once, just happen the way they're supposed to without any resistance? She's finally opened herself to _love_ now, and fucking _Zelena_ was able to kiss away Hades's banishment without batting an eye. Why not Emma?

Regina returns it in equal measure. "Because you need us."

The tears sting easily, and Emma leans against the door, pinching between her eyes; frustrated that she's so quick to them now. She slides down to floor with her heart still beating out of rhythm.

"It should have worked. I love him. I do." She _does_. She has to. How else could she have done all of this? What would it say then if she couldn't survive the simple task of keeping track of who she loves and who she doesn't?

Regina sighs before sitting down next to her. She lets her hands hover near Emma for a moment like she wants to reach out but keeps them in her lap. "Despite your mother's endless ability to spill platitudes, true love like that is…It's not easily replicated, and you already share it with our son."

It's a comfort and an excuse. Emma spent months not believing in magic, but she brought Henry back in a moment without even trying. It was nothing like this when all she has done is _try_.

"We shouldn’t have brought him down here."

"We chose to come. For _you_." She's smiling, downturned with wet eyes, when Emma looks back over.

They came here for her, and this can't be for nothing.

"I have to save him," she echoes, but Regina isn't listening.

"I once preserved Daniel's body," she says instead. "I searched for a long time for a way to bring him back and never gave up the hope that one day he would return. I kept him with me all the way through the curse."

"Whale brought him back," Emma supplies numbly. At the time, it hadn't been a history she'd been privy to and only had Mary Margret's gravity of the situation to work with. She knows this piece of Regina's story now, had watched it happen as if she'd been there.

"Indeed," Regina confirms, still distraught as if it only happened this morning. "Except he wasn't the boy I once loved. He was in so much pain and begged me to let him go. And I think that he would still be here if I hadn't."

And that's not fair. Because Regina begged her to save Robin so she wouldn't have to suffer through a loss again. Because Emma's already sat in the woods, crying with Gold and let Neal go. And how is this any different?

She thinks of Neal warning her upon arrival that there would be consequences in trying to bring Hook back, and how she told him she would have come after him, too, had she known of a way. But she's not sure having Neal back in her life ever would have been sustainable and she doubts she would have put them through this. Rather, she knows she wouldn't have in the same way she knows she'd still bind herself to darkness to spare Regina any of this if she had to do it all over again.

Killian begged her to let him go in Camelot, in Storybrooke, and continues to do so down here. She's ignored it every time. And there's really no way to atone for that, is there?

Coming to the Underworld had been a mistake, and it's the only thought that follows her home past private goodbyes and kings of death roaming around Storybrooke.

*

Emma fails, and Hook saves himself.

And suddenly she's _won_ for once. It's easy to paste on a façade and look at this like beating fate even if it wasn't by her hand.

Because when has it ever been?

Everyone cleans up her messes, solves her problems, and bears her losses. She's failed them all, and it's a wonder they haven't turned her away completely.

It was Henry's trust and belief and determination that got her to break the curse. Her magic didn't defeat Zelena. Merlin had chosen wrong. Instead, she saved Hook, and he resented her for it. But he was still the one to sacrifice himself and rid this world of the Dark Ones. He saved them then and Zelena saves them now, and Emma's rewarded while Regina pays the price.

*

Regina's gone in the morning. It can't have been too long. She was asleep like everyone else last time Emma was up to check, and Emma barely does more than nap lately.

Dark Ones don't require sleep, and the Underworld had been…She was only focused on getting Killian back safely, and time felt more like a concept than a reality down there. Even if she managed to get in a few hours, her nightmares would eventually wake her up. She thought it'd finally stop once they got home. It hasn't.

Regina's not hard to find. Emma knows right where she'll be.

The sun's barely come up, and she's glad to have grabbed her jacket on the way up. She lets the door to the roof slam shut behind her, letting Regina know she's no longer alone. Emma almost asks her if she's okay, but it's a stupid question with an obvious answer.

She killed a part of herself hours ago. She's not okay.

"It's freezing out." Emma greets and goes unacknowledged.

"I'm fine, Emma. Go back to your pirate. After all the effort it took to bring him back, someone should at least enjoy themselves."

And that's… _fine_. And expected.

Emma wrings her hands nervously and tries again. "The last time we were here, we left in a hurry. I was going through the apartment earlier, and I'm pretty sure Robin left behind more than a book. You might want to look through some of it before we go."

"Why? Will you be packing up Baelfire's things in the next room?"

This time Emma sighs. Sniping is the last thing she wants to do right now.

"Look, I know that you've lost your soulmate, and I can't-" _imagine_ , she almost says; nearly chokes on the entire fucking concept.

"Robin wasn't my soulmate, Miss Swan." Regina finally turns to looks at her. She sounds angry, stretched too thin, and Emma's already reeling. 

She tries and fails to find a good place to start. "But, um, the fairies. They said–they said that Tinker Bell was–That she helped you find your– _him_."

It's a testament to how much of a mess she's been lately that Regina doesn't even spot anything wrong. This churning in her gut and the panicked uncertainty it conveys is just what's normal now, apparently.

For a moment, she thinks that that will be the end of it. That Regina will close up. That this oncoming crisis will remain internal and die here on the roof of this awful apartment building alongside all the others. But Regina steels herself like she always does when talking about her past. Then she droops almost immediately with shining eyes, raw and painful and open, like she continues to do lately when talking to Emma.

"Many years ago, shortly after I married the king, after I lost Daniel, Tinker Bell happened to save my life. She tried to help me, wanted me to find true love again, and she led me to a man in a tavern. _Robin_ ," Regina says regretfully, and being jealous of a dead man is probably a new low. "Tinker Bell was convinced he was my soulmate, but I never went in to meet him. Perhaps he would have been at the time, had I introduced myself. Believe it or not, there's not much information on soulmates. Trust me. I've looked. Fate's fickle that way," she grouches. "By the time he and I did finally meet, our words weren't a match. If they ever were. My mark is…I've met many people who have said my mark. You can't get more pedestrian than-"

"Hi," Emma blurts without much thought to it and watches Regina's eyes widen, barely hears the sharp intake of breath over erratic thrum of her own heart. "I saw it once. During the curse," she manages, and Regina straightens away from her once more.

"Yes. Then you can see the predicament. I used to think it was its own curse, but now maybe that the Queen is gone, I'll have better luck." Her smile wobbles, watery yet still powerful all the same. Like maybe it all will be okay.

But Emma? Emma is _horrified_.

"Regina." She licks her lips, trying for _anything_. "Regina, I'm sorry."

Because it's not okay. Not remotely. Because there are tests and weighted hearts and she has a–a true love now.

She's already destroyed one happy ending. She can't be responsible for ruining another.

*

Their basement is still a cavern that belonged to Excalibur. Killian never goes down there, and Emma refrains from drawing any attention to it. She avoids it until she's home alone, but she rarely is. Emma's never alone at all anymore.

It's good, she thinks. It makes it easier to sell the appearance of happiness when she's meant to. She can smile big and wide and long enough that almost no one notices that anything's amiss.

Blending in has never been so painless.

But her hands won't stop shaking. It's a complement to the cramping in her stomach, as though she's run for too long without warming up for it. Her body is wound and coiled and one misstep spells danger. It feels like every wall is closing in. Emma can't get comfortable anywhere.

Something is _wrong with her._ The few times she's able to get out of her head and able to breathe, she's aware that this isn't normal. She's been afraid for herself plenty, but this is different. It's immediate and demanding and stifling at once. It's becoming harder and harder to hone it into something else let alone hide it completely.

Feeling this way might have made sense in the Underworld but not at home. She should have moved on from this by now, but even when she tries, she gets nowhere.

Emma begins seeing Archie with far less reluctance than she would have guessed when he first made the offer. 

*

She's been in therapy once before. (Twice, actually, but a few mandatory meetings with an overworked counselor after giving birth in juvie seems to be in a different vein.)

The last time, she was sent by one of her foster parents after breaking a kid's nose in homeroom. She doesn't remember why she punched him now, just that by agreeing to go to therapy she could forgo a suspension. It doesn't matter, really. It was one of her last homes before ditching the system for good.

Therapy did nothing for her then. The doc was patient but made mountains out of molehills and pushed Emma into talking about things that weren't even on her mind.

Archie's better. She knows him at least, would consider him a friend. She can talk to him about her latest set of nightmares. Every time she shuts her eyes, the visions of fighting a losing battle and dying in front of her family attack her. She can't possibly talk to any of them about it. They've only just returned from the Underworld for her and are finally settling. They're all supposed to be focusing on the future now. Archie is her only outlet in the face of this newest doom.

So it's a betrayal of trust when Archie seems to have a different take.

"Have you considered, maybe, that this isn't magical?"

"What do you mean?"

"Plenty of people living in the real world have similar experiences when they're depressed or anxious and put under added pressure. They experience mood swings and panic attacks. Hallucinations. They can become withdrawn and feel the need to protect themselves by isolating themselves."

Emma frowns. "So you think I'm crazy?"

"Not at all. But I think you've been under an incredible amount of stress in a short amount of time," he reasons. "Think of all the trauma you've been through in the past month. Becoming the Dark One. Killing someone you love. Nearly losing your family to the Underworld. Have you tried talking through any of this with them? With Killian?"

"No, this isn't about that. That's…that's over with. This is me not having control of my magic when someone plans on killing me."

"And what about aside from your magic?" he continues gradually. "Any lack of control there? Have you slowed down at all? Past the adrenaline or-"

"I'm not having a breakdown," Emma finally snaps. "I go to sleep and see myself die every night. That's what's causing this."

"Okay." He calms, patient as always. "But I need to know. Were you experiencing any of this before the visions started? The trouble sleeping? The jitters? The panic?"

She refuses to answer that. Because, yes, she was, but Dark Ones and split hearts need to stay behind her. Her fear now is only a mix of black hoods and swords and vaults and no–not vaults. Main Street. She's going to die right in the middle of town. This has nothing to do with–It's a new foe to contend with. _Just another week in Storybrooke._

"I'm not paranoid, Archie." She glowers. This isn't her imagination at work. Or her subconscious trying to work through… _whatever_. As though she'd choose to have yet another impending crisis placed over her head.

Emma ignores him calling after her as she storms out.

*

She misses her next session.

And the one after that.

She can't tell if that makes everything worse or if it's getting better. Measuring progress is the hardest part in all this. _This_. What Archie is convinced is the aftermath of an ongoing nervous breakdown and Emma–

She decides to handle it on her own. She'd rather go back to that than have her own feelings on the matter dismissed.

But her magic is still fluctuating. It comes and goes now nearly as much as it does in her visions. And she has to be stronger than that. They still have no idea what Regina's other half is up to. Storybrooke's latest squatters are still filtering about. There's too much pressure in what can go wrong.

Her family is concerned, but lying to them has become second nature. They trust her enough to believe she's fine. Or they want to appear to anyway. Growing up, Emma used to imagine that unconditional support would be less distorted. It wasn't supposed to be like this, well-intentioned yet harmful all the same.

Only Killian calls her out on it. Except that's not born out of any faith in her either. It's disappointment, brimming as it always does when she can't bring herself to open up to him. Emma doesn't know why she still–

She had moved past _that_ , or so she thought. In Camelot and after the Underworld, she had been _good_. She had encouraged herself to let go and express her feelings just like he's always wanted. It shouldn't come as a struggle again.

Instead, Hook broods over his rum and is equally closed off, and she can't be upset about that either. It wouldn't be fair. He's trying. He's here for her. _Because of her_. She kept him here. She did this. And it's…this was what she wanted, isn't it? This is her choice. She can't turn her back on something she gave up so much to walk toward.

*

She starts picking up nightshifts. It keeps her out of her maybe sort of stolen house and allows her the guise of being productive when she's too afraid to go to sleep. There hasn't been much in way of activity, but it's either patrol or wake up at her desk from another terror only with the added bonus of a crick in her neck. So. Patrol.

Tonight she's about to give up twenty minutes in before she circles back around town and spots a light on in Granny's. It's just after one in the morning and normally Emma would think nothing of it, but this is the third time this week, almost to the exact minute.

Curious, she pulls over and parks before unlocking the diner with a quick spell. She calls out but receives no answer until there's a loud crash from the kitchen. Emma rushes to the back and finds a dropped pot of pasta in the sink and a very frenzied Belle.

She shifts awkwardly before moving to drain the pot and put it back on the burner. She should go. She's probably the last person Belle wants to be around. Emma's been both directly and indirectly responsible for the recent distresses in her life, and there are really no suitable words for an apology. Still, Emma remembers being pregnant and alone, and she can't walk away without being asked.

"Belle? What are you doing here?"

"Granny's been kind enough to let me stay here since I woke from my sleeping curse." Belle sighs, and it's with that type of bone-deep exhaustion that can permeate a room. Emma feels instant solidarity.

"Here." Emma reaches out to heal the fresh burn on her hand. Belle nearly flinches away but then relaxes.

"Thanks."

"Are you okay? It's late."

"Oh, I'm aware," she says with a lilt. "But I'm nauseous all day and this happens to have become my favorite hour to eat. I nap all morning now." She chuckles.

"Yeah, I had afternoon sickness. I was fine until after breakfast."

"Does it go away?"

"Not really." At least it didn't for her.

"Hear that, little one," Belle directs her attentions to her belly with a glowing smile, "you get to torture me for nine months. But I'm sure you'll be worth it."

Belle makes up her plate and carries it back out to the sitting area. Emma grabs a couple sodas from the fridge, ignoring the preference for something behind the counter. Belle doesn't seem to mind the company so she joins her in the booth.

She seems lonely if anything, and Emma feels the urge to reach out and help the way she used to before saviors and destinies and happy endings.

"Granny might be pretty great, but do you need anything else? I can look into town restrictions and make arrangements or-"

"Oh, no, we'll be okay." Belle shakes her off. "I'm looking for my own place. Rumple and I just need to adjust and find our footing."

"I'm sorry. I know I didn't exactly make that any easier for you." 

Belle snorts, swallowing a mouthful. "You're hardly the first person who's tried to kill me to get to Rumple."

Considering she's dating one and raising a child with the other, Emma's probably not the best person to comment. Still. "I don't really think that makes it better."            

"Probably not. But I have someone else's life in my hands now, and I can't ever put myself in that position again."

"You sound sure." It's somewhat surprising. The Belle and Rumplestiltskin saga that Emma's never quite understood had also never quite seemed like it would end for good.           

But then maybe not. Emma remembers being convinced that Belle rejected Gold's attempted kiss to wake her despite having several failed true love kisses under her own belt by that point.

"You know, I always thought it would be much harder to start a life without him. For so many years my life has been about Rumplestiltskin before it's ever been about me. We've been through so much, and even now I wouldn't take any of it back," Belle reflects. "But if I've come to learn anything, it's that fighting for true love can very easily become settling for true love which I think rather defeats the purpose."

Emma doesn't leave the diner until Belle's finished with her meal.

To his credit, Archie doesn't say _I told you so_ when she's waiting outside of his office the next morning.

*

She's not in the best of moods. Which has of course been going on for longer than today, but it's safer to only ascribe it to today. She woke up on the wrong side of the bed. It's fine. It happens to everyone. So she feels only marginally guilty about Archie's struggle to maintain his patience and Pongo hiding in his bed under Archie's desk.

 _That_ at least gets her to stop pacing (stomping) around the office and sit down. She chooses a chair today. The couch feels too much like acquiescing.

She knew she never should have mentioned Regina in these walls.

Archie explains that he's only asking why Emma thinks Regina's the hooded figure in her vision. He repeats himself twice. 

"Does it matter? It makes the most sense."

"Humor me."

And all of this would be easier if Archie wasn't so damn affable to everyone he comes across.

"I didn't start having these visions until Regina split herself off. The Queen's the only villain left here. Maybe you forgot, but the last time she was walking around town, she tried to put me into an eternal nap." Which feels…off.

Mayor Mills in all of her far more sensible outfits was still very much _Regina_. Emma spent so much time trying to convince her family she was still herself when she'd been the Dark One. They haven't spent much time doing that now.

"Of course I remember," Archie pulls her back to the present. "I'd say Storybrooke tends to remember Regina's crimes, and I'm certainly not one to underestimate any side of her."

"But you think I'm wrong about this too."

He sighs. "I've never said you were wrong about anything, Emma. I'm only trying to learn about your thought process."

Emma ignores that. "But you don't think it's possible that Regina's under the hood?"

"My concern isn't with who may or may not be the hooded figure in your vision. My concern is why you're so sure you know who is. The few times we've discussed this, you go back and forth over whether it's Regina or the Evil Queen. The two of you are friends. You're raising Henry together. If you're having reoccurring dreams of someone you care about killing you, I'd like to work out why."

"It's not Regina. It's never–Regina would never hurt me. It's the Queen."

"I don't have as much firsthand experience with the Evil Queen as others do, but from what I recall, she wasn't exactly the cloak and dagger type." He smiles lightly. Emma has dubbed it his Welcoming Therapist Smile. "Talk me through it again. Your vision."

She sinks further into the chair. "We've been over this."

"I know."

"Fine." She sighs and puts herself back into the latest version of her vision, reliving it yet again. "There's someone in a black cloak. I can't see their face. We're fighting with swords, and they get the upper hand. I try to fight back using magic, but I can't feel it. Nothing comes. I'm–I'm powerless."

"Go on," Archie encourages.

Emma takes a deep breath, so unlike the inability to catch air in her dream. "I die. The stranger kills me while my family watches. My parents are there and Killian. Henry. Regina's not there. She should be there. Regina should be with me."

It's as paralyzing as being disarmed in her vision, and her nerves jump anxiously in rhythm to her pounding heart.

"Emma." Archie waits, open and patient.

The words work up her throat, all the while tasting like bile. She can't stop them. There are no secrets here. But she's never said it before now. Not even to herself.

"She's my soulmate."

Archie can't quite quell his surprise but pushes on. "I see. Did Regina reject that?"

This time Emma's the one caught off-guard. "What? No. Regina doesn't even know."

"I'm sorry. How is that-"

"Possible?" She smiles somewhat wryly. It eases them both. "We've technically met twice. It wasn't an immediate reveal on her end, and then I thought Robin was her soulmate and…now I know."

"And have you thought about telling her?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. 'Hey, Regina. By the way, we're soulmates. Sorry I'm already with someone.'"

He frowns. "Soulmates don't need to be romantic in nature." He clears his throat. "Mine wasn't."

And Emma's never thought of it in those terms. Every soulmate pairing she's met has been a couple. She just assumed…But that feels off too. Regina as some what? Platonic life partner? That's…It's too small. Emma's spent so much time carrying this around, making it into something unattainable yet all-encompassing.

The idea of telling Regina and having her accept their being soulmates as something less than all that can entail hurts worse than anything else she has dreamed up.

"It just means you're not alone," Archie continues. "And I think that's something that can go a long way. I'm sure Regina would appreciate knowing. Perhaps especially now."

And she knows what he's trying to say, but Emma doesn't hear him. "I'm with Killian. We're starting a future together. He deserves his chance at a happy ending. Especially after all he's been through. We both do."

Archie frowns again. "You keep referring to your future like that. I'd like it if you tried to refrain from thinking in terms of what's deserved."

"Everyone deserves a happy ending. That's what I'm supposed to be doing here."

"It also sounds like a lot of pressure to put on yourself," he coaxes gently.

Emma starts to nod in agreement before telling herself to stop. It _is_ a lot. It always has been. But it's also what she's meant to do, and failing everyone is a much harder alternative to accept.

Archie takes off his glasses and lays them down on the notes he no longer takes. It felt less like having a conversation when he recorded them. He stopped after three sessions. "There's an unfair amount of responsibility placed on the savior. Along with what now might be bad omens, I'm sure that's very difficult."

Emma swallows down what feels distinctly like betrayal. "Sometimes."

"It's a lot to take out of someone and far too much to ask of anyone. I want you to take a break from that."

"A break?" There are no breaks.

"At least try to." He smiles. "Don't think as the savior. Or about happy endings. Or about what Killian wants. Or Regina. Ask yourself what you want. It's not selfish, Emma, I promise."

Ask herself what she wants.

Right.

*

Emma doesn't know.

*

She actually starts looking forward to their sessions after that. There's a weight that no longer belongs only to her, and she breathes a little easier in Archie's office. Emma reminds herself again, every time here, that there doesn't need to be secrets or denials in this room.

Archie doesn't ask about her visions anymore unless she brings them up first. He doesn't bring up Regina or soulmates or marks. Saviors and happy endings are brushed to the side. Instead, Emma begins talking about things she usually buries.

"Did you know I didn't pick out the house?" Emma pulls on a loose thread unraveling from one of Archie's throw pillows. She wraps it around her finger until the tip turns white. "We never really discussed living together."

There was a time after her brother was born that Henry began looking for apartments for them, but everything was moving so quickly and Emma and Henry already had an apartment in New York and she never looked with him. That was as close as she had gotten to moving out of her parents' place on her own.

"Killian just found a listing sitting around the diner when we were in Camelot. He talked to Henry about it. He never asked me."

In Camelot, Killian had asked her to have faith in them, in him. Their love was supposed to be enough to keep her from being suffocated by the darkness. Letting go of the fear of committing had ended up being the easier of the two, and having a home and a future had been something tangible to cling to before everything immediately turned on its head.

Emma wonders sometimes if Gold's heart never failed. If they had never gone to Camelot. If Killian had still abruptly chosen a house for them, what she would have said. Or would it have never even occurred to him to look for one at all. If she hadn't jumped headfirst into darkness without knowing what would happen to her, would she have even told him she loved him yet?

"Does that bother you?" Emma turns her head to glance at Archie. "That you didn't pick out the house," he elaborates upon her frown.

She turns back again. She prefers staring at the ceiling. Archie has a low ceiling. It's blessedly blank.

"I wouldn't even know what to look for in a house. It's a beautiful home. It's–spacious." Empty. "I just never thought I'd literally do the whole white picket fence thing." She laughs lightly. "I'm not even sure Killian knows what that means."

Archie chuckles with her until she loses her light mood.

"Hook's curse gave us the house," she reveals. "I don't even know who the owners were. He needed a place to hide Excalibur, and when we got back, I just took it over. Nothing in it is really _ours_."

"I'm not exactly sure how Storybrooke real estate works," Archie jokes, "but you're making it yours now."

"He killed an innocent man to cast it." Emma looks back, and Archie's mood shifts again, leaving her be. "He chose the curse and his vengeance over me."

She's far from Gold's biggest fan, but he loved Neal. He spent centuries trying to find him to apologize with little regard for anyone else's life, including her own, but Emma understands that now better than she ever could before. The Dark One's focus is singular. Look at what she did in a fraction of the time in order to keep Killian.

Hook's focus had been on a centuries' old feud he had claimed more than one to have given up because of her and their happy ending. He wanted her to suffer and her family nearly paid the price until he decided he'd rather be a hero.

Sometimes that's all their relationship feels like, a vehicle to his proving to be a good man. This only works if she's the savior keeping him on the right path. He tossed her aside and wanted absolutely nothing to do with her when he thought she was the Dark One. It wasn't until she acted accordingly and saved his life that he stopped shunning her and believed in her again.

It's been getting harder and harder to write off since coming home. The veil over the immediate need to _act_ and rescue him from the Underworld has started to peel back. She can't walk past their basement door or their backyard shed. Emma can't be home at all longer than is required of her. And it's too reminiscent of growing up.

She wishes it would all just go away. The house. The nightmares. The guilt.

This is the last place Emma wants to be.

*

She's an anomaly.

She's never seen the kingdom as emboldened as it is for Henry's knighting ceremony. The people love her, she knows, but there's always been an underlying…not disappointment exactly but they have little faith in her as her parents grow older.

Henry can lead them and wear the weight of the crown as though that's all he was born to do. He has trained in swords and diplomacy in equal measure and takes after both of his grandparents. To this day they're still renowned far and wide as heroes that defeated great evils. And Emma…Emma's never so much left their lands without an escort.

She's a princess born out of the truest of loves, and there had been expectations in that. Emma has been failing to live up to those expectations since before she even had a choice in the matter.

Being born without a soulmate mark is unheard of, but the product of true love not having one seemed as though a curse. Her parents consulted with the fairies, worried that it had been a parting gift from the Evil Queen, but Blue found nothing amiss. Her parents held on to sheer hope and are still convinced Emma has a great love waiting for her. A story of her own with all the luster and reunions theirs had.

She had thought once that it may have been Neal. He hadn't had a mark on him either. He carried that burden as well, and with neither of them belonging to anyone, it had felt like they could belong to each other. That sort of connection is what soulmates are supposed to be.

Emma has always thought the marks are more about security. That they are a gift of knowledge that no one is ever truly alone. She never quite reached that point with Neal, but he had given her Henry and the rest pales in comparison.

She's never really thought about it much. Emma wants for nothing. How can she miss something she'll never know?

People say soulmates can't be broken. The fairies call it destiny. Her parents claim that they would have felt their bond even without knowing their words. It's innate. Everyone has someone out there that will recognize them regardless of circumstance.

It's a foreign sensation to her. She never experiences anything resembling it until the Evil Queen returns to kill her parents, and Emma knows instinctively, without question, that Henry cannot hurt this woman. The thought of it is pungent and chased away with a rush of magic.

Then Emma remembers.

*

This is the fourth time she's been stuck in some version of this world. You'd think by now she'd be better at finding her way home. This time, a grown Pinocchio–who is far too August-Lite for that not to be confusing–is helping them find their way back. It's taking longer than desired.

She doesn't know how she feels about this world any more than she does the actual Enchanted Forest. It's safe. Or it was. But a very angry Henry is hunting after who he believes is an Evil Queen that kidnapped his mother. This was her wish yet the Hook here isn't in her life even though Neal still was despite all odds. And now they're stuck here because another version of Robin Hood held them up, and Emma doesn't really think this is her wish world at all.

Regina's been mum about her time spent with him. She's despondent and withdrawn and focused on what she sees as a better world. A world where everything went on just fine without her.

She's been at it all afternoon since returning. By nightfall, Emma has gone past concerned straight to determined in ways she hasn't felt since the early weeks of Operation Mongoose, maybe. 

"Our family would not be better off without you in it," she starts in the face of Regina's latest bit of self-doubt. "Henry wouldn't even be _Henry_ if it wasn't for you."

This is the second reality in which she's raised him, in which his curiosity and imagination have been absent. Regina gave him that. And once that would have pulled at all the places of insecurity and twisted them into envy. Now all she feels is enthrallment for the woman next to her. "He wouldn't even have his name. And you think he'd somehow be happier if you hadn't raised him?"

"He's happy here," Regina tries. "He's in line to be King."

"Regina, it isn't real." Which earns a flinch. "I'm sorry. I know you want this to work out with-" She clicks her tongue. With everything she's done recently, she's in no position to talk about suddenly-alive lovers. "Henry needs you. In any universe. He needs his _mom_."

"Good," she snaps out with conviction now, and Emma's too used to the whiplash to be thrown. "I want you to remember that the next time you start talking about finding comfort in who's going to raise him because you've convinced yourself you're going to _die_. He needs both of us."

"Yeah, well, we might not need to worry about that anymore. Archie doesn't think I'm seeing visions. He thinks they're just nightmares. _Delusions_."

"He's a bug. Spray him with some pesticides. See how good he is at his job then."

Emma smiles for a moment, imagining how Regina's therapy must have gone. "He's a friend. And he's helping."

Regina softens, quick to help like she's been since the Queen revealed Emma's secrets. "And what do _you_ think? Do you think they're just nightmares?"

And that's a thread Emma doesn't want to pull on yet again. Not with Regina. Not with the danger of honesty she brings with her. Not when Emma doesn't even have an answer.

She shrugs. "It doesn't matter right now. We just need to focus on getting home." She's resigned to deal with it later and begins tucking herself in for the night.

Regina isn't as inclined.

"I hate when you do that. Shut me out. Whatever it is we can face it together," she implores like they're still back on her doorstep with only lies and a dreamcatcher and Regina's faith between them. "I know you'd still rather deal with everything on your own because you're _Emma_ , but I just wished to be wherever you were so let me help you."

And there are more important thoughts to unravel from all of that, but Emma can't clamp down on an abrupt, "Wait. Is that really how you got here?"

"Are you actually going to complain about how I found you?"

"If it means putting yourself at risk, I am."

"You're one to talk."

" _Me?_ I'm not the one who tries to constantly martyr herself."

"Please. Clearly, it's a town issue."

"A town issue?" Emma repeats blankly. "You had no idea where I was. I could have been in some hell dimension. We could both be dead right now. And Henry would be-"

"Well that wasn't what was important at the time," she says, strained. "I did this. Hyde was a minor nuisance, easily dealt with. The Queen, she's everywhere. _Again_. Storybrooke could have found some relative peace had I just been strong enough to-"

"Hey," Emma cuts her off. "It hasn't been that bad. All things considered, she really hasn't been that bad."

"Is that what the sword it for?"

Emma cringes. "I think that might be more about me," and destinies to break curses and defeat Evil Queens. But there's never room for the fine print in that, is there? Not even when it's normally written across Emma's own skin. "She's still you, Regina. I know no one's done a good job acknowledging that. We've all been through a lot lately, and I don't know, maybe it's just gotten too easy to deflect blame."

That's what they all did with her. It's what Emma did with Hook. There's no need to point at each other when inescapable darkness is right there.

But Regina rolls eyes. "You've been convinced that my less-than-flattering half is going to kill you and with good reason. There's no deflecting here. She's every bit the villain I designed her to be."

"That's not why…" Emma begins before she shakes it off, centering herself. "Goodness isn't some birthright no matter how many babies my parents toss through portals. Good is, it's just something you _do_. In case you've missed it, you've been everyone's hero for a while now." She smiles, and Regina's eyes shine, awash with affection, and Emma might not even last this trip. "In New York, you said you were afraid of reverting and losing us, but that's not going to happen. God, Regina, you don't need to destroy a piece of yourself to be a part of our family."

After a moment, Regina clears her throat, aiming for the standard brush off. "Well, short of getting back and wishing this all away, I'd say it's more likely we're going to be stuck with her for a while. Unless you know of some other way to reverse magic and-"

"Oh," Emma yelps.

Because, yes. Yes she does.

*

The next day, they poof to Rumplestiltskin's castle and are promptly driven back by a force, sending them both flying into the dirt. Emma dusts herself off and picks up her sword, squinting against the morning sun. They're on a forest trail at the base of the mountain where the Dark Castle resides.

"Rumple must have put up a barrier," Regina says. "I remember him doing this before. It will take at least an hour on foot. There's no magical way around it."

Which, great.

Emma tilts her head and starts walking. It'll be easier to just get this over with as quickly as possible and with little complaint. They're both already on edge. That much has been obvious since they woke up.

It was Emma's suggestion. In the normal Enchanted Forest, Rumplestiltskin had the wand that once reversed Zelena's time travel spell and returned Emma and Hook back to Storybrooke. The wand that was said to recreate any magic that's ever been wielded.

Emma has no idea if this version of Rumple still has the same wand or if they'll even be able to take it home with them or if it'll even work if they do. But it's an _option_ , maybe, if Regina wants to try it. She didn't seem too thrilled about it, but she was also the one to suggest setting out after it this morning despite her nerves.

Of course, Emma suspects that's not the only reason Regina's been so reticent with her since last night. It's no longer the norm not to open up to each other; if it ever was.

Because that's the crux of their relationship, isn't it? Emma tries with Regina the way everyone usually tries with her. _Open yourself up first and hope she follows_. She can't quite pinpoint when the shift occurred and Regina became the one who extends branches first. It's just slowly turned over until they've arrived…here.

"It's not that I'm trying to be closed off," Emma says finally, grabbing Regina's attention. She looks bemused, as if this wasn't what was on her mind, and Emma could take it back but it's out there now. She's still…She can still be _this_ Emma. Open. Expressive. Walls down. A few choice realizations and conversations with Archie doesn't mean–It's what they all want from her. She tries again. "Or that, god, that I don’t trust you after everything. I just...didn't have an answer."

"Emma." Regina shakes her head in what Emma's begun to view as fond exasperation. "Stop worrying about it. I was pushing."

"You weren't," she denies. There was the underlying guilt trip for not being what someone wants within a moment, though. It's too familiar by now in her life to shy away from it.

"I was. It wasn't the first time, and it probably won't be the last." She sighs ruefully. "Last night I was frustrated over not being able to do anything in order to help. I was mad at myself for getting us stuck here in the first place."

"Yeah, well, it was my wish. Technically." Emma gestures around them with her free hand. "Though, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"What were you wishing for?" Regina turns back to look at her, patient.

And she had hoped, maybe, that no one would bring up the elephant in to the room of outright wishing away her saviorhood. But she'll at least have a better go at discussing it with Regina than the rest of her family. They probably wouldn't even pretend to understand. Emma tries her best to answer.

"Just me. Just being a mom and a sheriff. No death sentence hanging over my head. I don't know." She sighs. "I know we did the right thing, and even if we didn't, it was something we _had_ to do, but the last couple of weeks I've been thinking about how much easier things would be if we helped Henry destroy magic for good. You know, if no one had gotten sucked into yet another world, we wouldn't have any problems right now. We'd be…normal. A normal family."

She curls her fingers nervously, hoping Regina doesn't see it as a betrayal of Henry that it isn't. But Regina is indulgent. "Magic or no magic, nothing about our family is normal. Magic causes its share of issues, but it does a lot of good too."

"It doesn't feel like that lately."

"It's a part of you."

"And I might die because of that."

Regina stops walking, resulting in Emma doing the same. "You are not dying," she says emphatically, like she can will it to be true.

"It feels like it," Emma confesses and decides to just go for broke. "I'm just…so _afraid_ all of the time. I can't tell what's real and what isn't anymore. I don't have any control and-" She sucks in a sharp breath, too short to find any relief at all. "I haven’t been okay."

"I know," Regina confirms softly with a look Emma's seen far too often on her family's faces over the past month. "Has he done something?" she asks, testy as always when she acknowledges Hook, and Emma shuts her eyes wearily because Regina _would_ be the one to go there before anyone else.

"No. No, this isn't about Hook. Not really. But I should be happy, shouldn't I? It would selfish if I wasn't. Everyone's lost so much, and somehow I have everything I'm supposed to now. That's what all of this is supposed to be about, right? Finding happy endings?" she asks helplessly, in no need of an answer. No one has gone to greater length to secure their happy ending than Regina, and Emma had once promised her one and none of this is fair. Neither even have what they sought. "I don't know how to do this or be _that_ Emma. Something's missing or–It's like I'm not even _here_."

"Like splitting yourself in half?" Regina offers archly.

"Maybe," she mumbles.

And she can feel it clawing up her throat, suffocating, and Emma tries in vain to swallow it all down. But she hasn't been able to do that in weeks. Every line of protection she's made for herself throughout her life is missing, and there's nothing left to grasp at. The pounding behind her eyes returns until she lets the tears fall. She feels defenseless again. Weak. And she's just–

She's so tired.

Of everything.

"I've been spending a lot of time in the basement lately," she says and chokes on a wet sob rolling up from her lungs. And it's like she can't get enough air past her lips. She shouldn't be telling anyone this. "We haven't done anything with it. It still looks the same from when–And I know I should change it." With magic, it's so easy. There's been no excuse, "But _I can't_." Which doesn't explain much of anything.

But if she fixes it, it feels like erasing it. Everything else has already been forgotten, gone as quickly as all the people Killian's curse brought over. Letting it all go would be easier, she knows, but a part of her doesn't want to. A part of her needs to remember every awful thing she did. Every awful thing Killian said to her. _Why she lifted that dagger in the first place._

Emma chances a glance back to Regina, and she's right there with her. Concern radiates off her under the sheen of her own eyes. It's _Regina_. Regina, who feels too much for the people she cares about and still doesn't believe she deserves the same in return. Emma never should have brought any of this up. Now Regina's upset, and she needs to fix it.

She tries to wipe away her tears, but it's harsh and accomplishes nothing. Laughing it off doesn't work either. No sound resembling a laugh even comes. Still, Emma tries, "It's stupid, I know."

" _Emma_ ," she says it like it hurts and falters in her step over to Emma. She carefully and deliberately removes and pockets her gloves before cradling Emma's face in her hands. Emma's eyes close automatically as Regina's thumbs brush away tears at a much gentler rate. And they don't _do_ this.

They don't touch each other affectionately. Or in comfort. Or at all. The occasional grazing of an arm in acknowledgement, maybe, but not this. They don't do this. _God, why don't they do this?_

Emma's instincts tell her to pull away, far away, but when she opens her eyes again, Regina's looking at her like nothing else matters. But calmly, too. Like it would be fine if they stayed here all day with Emma crying out her issues.

It soothes and it strengthens, and this time Emma doesn't try to clamp anything down.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this," she says. "I always figured that it would work itself out, you know? That you and I would…end up somewhere else."

Regina sucks in a breath and her eyes widen a fraction. And Emma's really not going to be able to come back from this one.

"Please don't bring him back with us." It slips out, unbidden. The slow circles Regina had been rubbing into her cheekbones stop. Emma's fucked.

She steps back in search of some much needed distance. There's really no other way to read this. There's nothing to hide behind now. "I'm sorry. That was–that's an awful thing to say." Because regardless of her feelings, Robin _died_ , and he was a good man and Regina should be happy. So much of the hole Emma dug for herself is because she wanted Regina to be happy.

And sometimes–sometimes it still feels like they won't be. Not at the same time. Not together. Every time one of them somehow manages to find happiness within their hold, the other is miserable and on and on it goes and Emma is _tired of it._

When she looks back over, Regina's hands are slowly dropping back down to her sides, empty with the loss. She's watching Emma carefully, like she's something to pull apart and learn from. Regina's studying her and the situation, and Emma thinks she knows, has already reached the conclusion.

A part of her wants to deny it, to continue pushing it aside. She wants to turn away and dry her tears and continue their trek. This isn't the time or the place for hidden culminations to be met. There's too much going on around them. Too much to lose, to turn their back on. _Too much to gain, maybe._

Honestly, their timing is a travesty.

Emma stays put. She doesn't move an inch away from this. Not when it's been such a winding road to get here, and after everything, maybe that on its own can be enough.

Regina tentatively follows over, nervous. Antsy. It's something that's been more prominent since the split, and it's adorable, really. Emma takes the leap for them both, letting the sword clatter to the ground. Her hands are gentle as they grasp at the collar of Regina's coat, but Regina still freezes beneath them. She's tense until she releases it on a calming exhale. Emma chases it.

The first touch of their lips is not as Emma imagined it'd be or feared it'd be. Those dreams had been brief and vague and purposefully disregarded. This is real. Firm and real and Emma breathes in and smells Regina _everywhere_. It's an invasion on her senses and messy and possibly a bigger disaster than she could have anticipated because Regina is not kissing her back. 

Emma's ruined it. This is going to be so awkward and she's just projecting onto their friendship, and her panicked thoughts are about to run rampant until, finally, Regina _moves_. Faint then sure, she slants her mouth just right, and Emma's dizzy with it.

Her hands snake up past the collar to the skin of Regina's neck. It's not enough. She wants to know, to feel. Her gloves disappear with little thought to who knows where. And okay, the destiny behind it might kill her, but that's one point in magic's favor.

And she's just, she's so soft. And Emma probably needs to stop thinking of Regina like that for her own good, but, well, _she is_. Soft and warm and inviting. Emma traces up under her ear, into Regina's hair and tugs her closer, drawing out a moan.

They're pressed together as the kiss deepens. Regina pulls back with a ragged breath and leans her forehead against Emma's.

She moves away some to take it in. Regina's eyes are screwed shut as though in pain, and Emma cups her face, mimicking Regina's earlier gesture. Loosely, she grasps Emma's wrists until she relaxes and opens her eyes. Regina stares and marvels, like she can't believe this is happening at all.

Well.

That makes two of them, and Emma smiles and smiles and it's small and that's okay. She can't feel it cutting into her cheeks, but she can feel it everywhere else. Like maybe this moment is small too. Small and something precious just for them.

"Hi."

Something flashes in Regina's eyes at that. New and nearly unreadable, Emma's never seen this look before. It's sincere and full of wonder and directed at her.

Regina tightens her grip around Emma's arms and wrenches herself forward. She's methodical, taking Emma's top lip between her own. Then the bottom, savoring, and the way she's sinking into this, into Emma–Emma hasn't been alone in this. It's not just a reaction, and suddenly, all she wants to know is _how long?_

"Are we–Is this something you want?" is what tumbles out instead. And it feels so much more like _we can have this?_ And, god. What if they can?

"If I have any say in it."

"Yeah?"

"Emma." Her voice breaks over her name, the pained sound of being in–

"Yeah," she breathes after a moment. "Me too."

Her lips find Regina's again like an anchor as Regina backs them up. She collides with the tree still behind her but is more focused on Regina pulling at the hem of her cloak, the back of her neck. The princess cloak with fur lining and fine embroidery, that's probably worth more in this world than anything Emma's ever owned anywhere, lands in the underbrush without care.

Regina's mouth latches on to the newly uncovered skin. She bites and sucks at Emma's pulse point, and Emma's _gone_. She spins them around, trapping Regina between her and the rough bark that scrapes against her palms. It's uncomfortable and far from ideal, but that's not Emma's first thought. Or her fifth. 

She kisses her, presses their lips together again as though she can't help herself. She's not about to try, not when her hands find the buttons on Regina's coat and she feels slight trembling against her.

Emma can relate.

Regina's hands cover hers, stilling them, and she leans back to catch Emma's eye. It's easier to breathe like that. This is _Regina_. She's with Regina. And this is new and unknown and they have so much they'll need to talk about at some point, but they've been through too much and right now Emma calms with that. They've already been with each other, been something to each other, in virtually every other way imaginable.

Together, they get the coat off, and the way she just sort of…melts under Emma's palm, this time Emma tries not to hold back.

"How, um." She swallows and licks her lips. They feel swollen. She licks them again, Regina's eyes following the movement. It's a few steps beyond distracting. "When?"

Regina snorts, self-deprecating. "Ask me that again tomorrow."

She pulls her back in, lips moving to the underside of Emma's jaw. She pulls at the laces of Emma's gown, and it's a race to see who can divest each other of their clothes the quickest. Emma works down Regina's pants, boots hastily being kicked off by the heel in front of her.

She grins up at her, rubbing a soothing hand behind Regina's knee. "They say patience is a virtue."

"I've been patient."

Her grin widens at the petulance trying–and failing–not to make itself known. Emma glances back up at her in the stillness of the connection, no longer elusive. Regina's eyes have clouded over as she stares back steadfast at Emma on her knees in underbrush of the forest beneath them.

A few strands of hair have come loose from her braid, and Regina reaches down to tuck them behind her ear. It's too delicate for the moment, and she turns her head to leave a kiss on her palm. Trails up to her wrist. Back to her thigh. Emma can feel the tremors building beneath her lips. She wants to chase them away. She wants to bask in them. She wants them to intensify.

She follows after them, teasing higher as she goes. Regina's so wet already, and Emma's breath stutters out at the sensation. Regina's hands stay hanging limp at her sides. She stops her hips from grinding down. Emma can feel the muscles in her core tense as they work in restraint. When she glances up, Regina's holding her breath, watching Emma with an intensity so strong she needs to look away again. Emma wants her to let go. To taste her and have Regina writhe against her–yank her closer in ecstasy.

Emma spreads her with her thumbs, licking the length of her. She sinks deeper and returns, tongue encircling her clit. She wraps her lips around her and feels Regina's fingers weaving into her hair. Emma reaches under the leg curled around her, pulling closer.

Her senses are overloaded with Regina. Regina. _Regina_. With the smell of her. The heavy taste coating her tongue. Each time she doesn't try to stop her hips from canting against Emma's mouth. How she looks from above with her head thrown back in pleasure.

Emma takes her clit between her lips again and sucks, dragging her hand higher. She ghosts her fingers up Regina's inner thigh until she's teasing at her entrance, passing through the slick heat easily. Regina's ready for her, beyond ready, and each thrust is met with Regina's inner walls clenching around her fingers. And the feel of her, of being inside her and connected like this, is something Emma plainly knows she'll never come back from.

But it's also not the same. It's not what she wants right now. She already misses the deep warmth filling her and removes her fingers to replace them with her tongue. She wants to get her off like this. Emma's close to doing just that as she swipes her thumb over Regina's clit, and Regina's grip in her hair tightens, pulls her closer and closer still–until she's not. Until Regina tugs her away. 

"Wait. _Wait_ ," she starts to say, and Emma barely moves back to protest before Regina's sliding down the tree to connect their lips in a bruising kiss.

They sink further to ground, molded together, and Regina's frantic, pushing up Emma's slip. Pushing aside whatever the hell passes for underwear in this nightmare of a wish world. Her hips move on their own accord, chasing after knuckles pressing against her clit. She can't remember the last time she was this turned on or the last time it was this easy to find release.

She buries herself in Regina's neck, enraptured and insatiable. Content. Abashed. There's little Emma's not feeling at the moment and focuses on fingers still massaging against her. She sucks at the unblemished skin in front of her, feels rather than hears the hitch in Regina's breath. She reaches out and finds her again. Teases until Regina's crashing down right after her.

*

" _Em-ma_." It's whispered like Regina's trying to wake her up, but she's wide awake and keenly aware of everything around her.

The ground is hard and cold underneath them. The sun's shifting behind trees and a light breeze has picked up. Regina's wrapped the stupid princess cloak around them, but everything is too loud. It's as if she can hear everything in this forest echoing down from the tallest trees, and the rest is starting to break in with it.

Killian. Regina's other half. Her visions. Nightmares. Whatever. _Robin_.

Archie's going to have a field day.

Regina brushes over Emma's cheek with the back of her hand. "You've got lipstick everywhere." And she's smiling and it's so bright in her eyes that everything else fades again. It feels like coming up for air.

She's just–She's never seen Regina look this _happy_ before. There's always been something else accompanying her happiness. A pain weighing it down but it's not here now. Emma doesn't know if it's because of the split or because of _her_ , but she can't lose–

She feels prickling behind her eyes again and releases it on a watery laugh. "Yeah, well, you're not looking too hot there either, Your Majesty."

Regina ignores her, leans forward and kisses her again. Her hand moves to clutch the back of her neck, and Emma is a million miles away.

They're no longer lying in the dirt but on soft sheets that probably aren't worth as much as they cost. Her mom's called twice, going ignored, and Henry's downstairs eating cereal that contains too much sugar. Lazy Sunday mornings in a bed that neither wants to leave and family afternoons. Family afternoons with no impending crises. They can have that.

For the first time it feels more like a possibility than a fantasy that she's trying to will into existence.

She pulls back with a moan when Regina's free hand finds its way between her legs. Slow strokes tease at her entrance, drawing out wetness. Regina dips the tips of her fingers in only to pull them back again. She does it over and over until Emma's hips are rising against her hand, and she needs Regina inside her.

She's wanted this for so long, and she needs to know. She needs–

"Regina," she groans, burying herself in Regina's neck again.

Her eyes clench as she feels a kiss to her temple, her brow, the corner of her jaw. Regina enters her with the third kiss, her breath stuttering out against Emma's ear. Slow then sure and Emma loses herself in what they're doing. 

Stays there too long.

"You're thinking too much." She feels Regina's lips move with her words.

"I'm not." She is. Still, "Before wasn't–It usually takes me longer to-" Emma chews on her bottom lip.

"Oh." Her eyebrows lift, and she pauses for a moment. Then Regina smiles again; kisses her once. Twice. "Well. We've got time," she mumbles against Emma lips, and Emma vows to do everything she can to keep this.

*

Emma moves back into the loft.

Emma doesn't leave the loft for days.

There had been a protracted moment when they got back. She and Regina arrived home to the news that the Queen was now secured. David and Henry filled them in on all that had taken place, and in a search for comfort over finding out half of you is now a snake, Emma's fingers found Regina's.

Killian was the only one to notice. She hadn't greeted him upon arrival which was odd in itself, and he took one look at the guilt written across Emma's face and became stormy-eyed in an instant. She had dropped Regina's hand which felt like another betrayal in this bubble extending only as far as the three of them.

Hook stormed off, Emma made an attempt to go after him and explain, and Regina just seemed...resigned to it all. She took Henry home to deal with her latest turn of events, and Emma instead asked a very confused David if she could move back in.

She expected some type of blowback, in being seen as a failure, but her family is accepting and don't bombard her with questions. Henry is a constant presence, rotating between the loft and the mansion as best he can, and her parents don't seem disappointed at all, only supportive. And maybe a touch knowing.

"You're good with him," Snow notes from her end of the couch while Emma make faces at Neal sitting happily in her lap.

"Oh. No, I'm-" Her mom shoots her a look, unwilling to accept the denial, and Emma backtracks. "Thanks."

"Recently, he's just started growing so quickly. It feels like every time your father wakes me up, he's gotten bigger." She sighs, glancing across the loft to a sleeping David. "We're missing so much."

And this wasn't supposed to ever happen with Neal. At a loss, she reaches over to squeeze her mom's hand. "We'll figure this out."

"I know." Snow squeezes back before getting up to pour their tea. Emma buckles Neal into his baby bouncer and joins their mother in the kitchen. The tea's nothing special, but there's a lot to be said for quiet and family and _mundane_.

"We were going to buy a house once, remember?" Snow says abruptly. "Before second curses. And third curses. _Fourth_ curses." She lets out an exasperated little huff. "We wanted to find a bigger place."

Emma remembers all of it–the misplaced panic that Mary Margaret didn't want to live with an adult daughter, the immediate relief of making the wrong assumption–but she also has no idea where this is going. "Kind of."

"I looked into it once, back then. David was so set on going back to the Enchanted Forest, and I knew that wouldn't have been your first choice. But, Emma, I was so afraid that you'd agree to it anyway and be miserable there, so I started looking at homes." She says it so naturally, as though Emma hadn't spent her life doing just that, and Emma feels the unequivocal sense of belonging coiling around her heart. "There weren't many to choose from. The one I found didn't have a yard, and you know your father." Snow rolls her eyes fondly.

"Yeah. God forbid he doesn't joust in the pickup."

"Exactly." They laugh, and it's never been the most common occurrence in their lives but she's _missed_ laughing. "So maybe it's time to start looking again. Preferably for a house with stairs that are easier to baby-proof. _And_ that's big enough for the whole family."

Emma blinks back tears. "Mom. You guys don't need to do that."

"Do what?"

"I can't live with you forever. I need my own place. I mean, speaking of getting bigger, have you seen Henry lately?"

"I have," Snow says, fond again. "And maybe you're right." She quiets for a moment and drinks her tea, smiling slyly behind the rim. "The loft will be available."

*

She starts venturing out but avoids the only two people in town she needs to see.

And it's alleviating.

Lily has gotten a part-time job at the Rabbit Hole and seems _brighter_ now, closer to the girl Emma once knew. August is trying to weasel his way into Sidney's old position at _The_ _Mirror_. Belle has found an apartment close enough to the hospital for easy doctor's appointments as her stomach extends. Ashley's daycare service is up and running and booming as the citizens from the Land of Untold Stories have gotten settled and begin to find work.

But there's still so much to take care of. The disputes between the newcomers and residents have steadily grown. As have traffic violations from said newcomers who have only just learned what cars are let alone how to drive them. Her dad's pulled over three separate riders on their horses, illegally using street lanes last month. This morning David made inquiries into training a new deputy for the days he's asleep.

It's a series of challenges that Emma can actually _solve_. Sheriff has always been the easier role to rise to. This is what she was elected to be by Storybrooke, and she feels a little closer to her element. She had _people_ and a life here in town long before Hook sailed into it. It's not her fault he can't say the same.

And that realization is enough to end one avoidance. It's not a conversation she's looking forward to, and it starts about as well as she expected it would.

"Your things."

She finds Killian in their kitchen. On the counter in front of him, she sets down house keys, a ring once belonging to his brother, and absolutely nothing else to show for this period in her life beyond unavoidable regret.

"Ready to finally acknowledge me, then?"

Emma blows out a breath. "That's fair."

He waves his flask around dimly. "Well so long as it's all in good form," he quips with creeping self-loathing that's never quite left either of them since a diner in Camelot.

She thinks of ways to make this easier for him. She thinks of the common ground of not knowing how to say goodbye, of letting go. She thinks of the truth and Regina and an easy excuse of _soulmates_ that he claimed never to care about but knows he still believes in anyway.

Emma thinks a lot of things and decides it's not his place to be given any of them.

"I'm sorry. I thought this was what I wanted. I tried. I really did." And doing so nearly killed her and her family and did in fact kill him and it's possible that Archie may deserve a raise.

There's really nothing more to add on top of that, and she's set to leave but he gets up right after her.

"Perhaps that's what you'd like to tell yourself, but I was never a priority in your life. You never wanted that."

Killian's swiped the ring from the counter but has left the keys, leaving their would-be home behind just as quickly, and that probably says more about them than either would admit.

"I went to hell for you."

"You went for yourself. So you would have someone. It was never about me. You never let me in. I had to fight you on it every day just to have anything from you," Hook snaps out, eyes darkening like Excalibur and dreamcatchers and crushed hearts. She wills herself not to recoil. "How long did it take for you to tell me you loved me without a crisis prompting it? How long did it take you to show any feelings for me without I showing you first? You clung to me when you needed me, only when you were _terrified_ of being alone. You were so consumed with fear and darkness that you were weak enough to finally do so. You exhaust the people who love you. The ones you don't manage to push away from you first."        

Emma blinks, and the veil slips off. "That's really what you think?"

"Despite whatever it is you may believe about yourself, you are very easy to love, Emma," he says, beseeching–earnest as he's always been when trying to convince her of some perceived worth–until it finally drops away entirely. "You just don't give it in return. But I suppose that's no longer my burden to bear."

"Hey." Emma grabs his arm and pulls him back from his exit like he's done to her too many times before. It's a particularly useful bit of role-reversal and with it comes stark clarity of the moment. "Any inability I had in opening up to you has always said more about you than it has _ever_ said about me."

She wonders how she ever could have mistaken one feeling for the other. The pressing need to fit within a timeworn story already written for her and _this_. This blinding, unrepentant freedom that comes with relief.

*

The end to their story, as it turns out, happens quietly in the night with nearly no one even noticing.

Nearly, except for Mary Margret happening to bump into Killian as he's packing up his ship, preparing to leave without word. It's better this way, she thinks. He can leave this world without issue, to sail with Captain Nemo and a brother he's choosing to make amends with. And Emma–

Emma can learn to breathe again.

*

Breathing is not actually a skill easily relearned, but the great outdoors is supposed to be perfect for that…or something. Her dad's suggestion.

She and Henry make a weekend of it. In a carefully researched plot in the woods surrounding Storybrooke, they have a go at camping. Or at least try to. Their tent collapses on the first try much to Henry's continued fusses.

"Cut me some slack, kid. City bail-bondsperson here. My experiences of camping are being sucked through portals into various versions of the Enchanted Forest. It's not exactly a manual."

"Did you read the manual I sent you?"

"Um."

Henry offers a flummoxed headshake in response, looking very much like his other mother.

"Speaking of trips to the Enchanted Forest, Mom won't tell me anything about the last one. Did something happen?"

"Is she okay?" Emma takes a seat on their packs, leaving their carcass of a tent to rest for a moment.

"So something _did_ happen." He plops down beside her. "I thought maybe she was being weird because of the Queen."

The Queen, who's still slithering around in a cage as Regina has made no move to use the wand just yet.

It's an ongoing process.

"Maybe a bit. But if she's upset, it's probably my fault." It's the only avoidance left that Emma hasn't overcome. Even this morning, she only pulled over to pick up Henry. She tells herself that just needs this weekend first. "I'm going to fix it, though. Things have just been a little crazy lately. But they'll be better from now on, I promise."

"You don't need to do that," Henry says after a moment. "I get it, you know. I'm not ten anymore. I can see things differently now. You've been through a lot, and the last thing I need is my moms pretending everything's alright when it's not. We shouldn't be so good at that."

"Oh, kid." She links their elbows, resting her chin on his shoulder. "And what if I want things to change? Don't I get a say in that?" Do they not deserve something good for a change?

Henry brightens a bit and leans his head against hers in silent support, already making the weekend worth it.

*

It always comes back to this door, really. A boy and a doorstep and bringing him home.

They arrive back late Sunday afternoon, and Henry's greeted with his patented Regina hug. Emma lingers on the walkway, feeling very much like an outsider in ways she hasn't since Storybrooke had been a normal New England town.

But from behind his mother's shoulder, Henry is still watching her.

"Welp, I'm wiped," he announces, pulling out of the embrace. "I think I'll sleep until Tuesday."

With The Subtlety of Henry, he retrieves his bag from Emma with a look and ducks past them both, heading inside.      

"Shower first," Regina calls after him, not missing a beat. It's silent after that, and Regina clearly debates following after their son before turning her attentions back. "How'd it go?"

"You mean aside from the mosquitoes?"

"That's what you get for sleeping on a mound of dirt. A woodland getaway? Not your best idea."

She lets out a tense, little laugh, and she can't tell if it's a shot at them or not. "Guess not."

There's nothing more either of them knows how to say, and Regina appraises her for a moment before concluding, "You should get some rest."

And she's about to turn away, maybe for good, and _not yet_.

"Regina."

She's taken half a pace inside when she stops. Her feet stay grounded on the porch. Only her hand is on the frame ahead of them, as though that makes all the difference.

"I should have called," Emma rushes out, hands fidgeting before finding solace in her back pockets. She stutters in her steps, settling on kicking at the front step.

"It's fine." Regina clears her throat. "There weren't expectations, Emma. We were yet again in an entirely different reality. You had another happy ending stolen from you. You were upset and needed a distraction. It's fine."

It's an out for both of them, carefully constructed and delivered with a mayor's diplomacy.

It's also a lie.

Emma tilts her head and climbs up the porch in a sudden burst of confidence. "You really believe that?"

Regina doesn't say anything. But she lets go of the doorframe and moves forward to straighten the collar of Emma's jacket. It should be innocent–she just did the same for Henry–but she gives a tug until her forehead's pressed against Emma's, and Emma's hands find an easy grip on her waist.

"I should have called," she repeats, and Regina makes a noise in agreement. Or maybe dismissal. Because what does it matter now when they've made it here? "I'm sorry. Things have been such crap, but I want-"

She's cut off with a kiss and falls into it. And this is not something she'll ever grow tired of. Emma takes a moment before pulling back some.

"Over there, you said that this was something you wanted. Do you still-"

Regina's thumbs move up to press against Emma's lips, tenderly shushing her. "Of course. Idiot." She smiles, mirthful.

"Oh," Emma murmurs, breathing it all in. She lets her lungs expand with what at other times might have needed to be courage. Here it's earned ease with a little bit of _finally_ underneath. "Good. Because I love you, and I'm so tired of putting that on hold."

Emma's chest goes tight as Regina makes another soft noise and looks away. But then she smiles, wistful and stunning before her fingers reach Emma's. "Stay for a nightcap?"

And it's the easiest thing in the world to let herself be led inside.

*

In the weeks following, their family falls into a welcomed routine. Regina manages to concoct a way to end her parents sleeping curse, and Friday night dinners become an event; even Zelena seems to appreciate her experimental invite. It's something ordinary to look forward to and makes going out and getting back to normal all the more carefree. Of course, it's still nice to have alternative support as well.

"Emma," Archie greets one morning outside the station with a wide grin. "How have you been? You missed your last few appointments."

Emma winces. "I've been a little busy."

"I'm aware. Some of it has made it to the town grapevine."

"You can just say it was my mom."

He laughs with her as she crouches to greet a very happy Pongo.

"And your nightmares?" he broaches. "Have you been having any more of them?"

She pauses. "Not as much but," _but_ this is Storybrooke. And she has on occasion still woken up in sweat soaked sheets with darkness flickering in front of her eyes and the feeling of a stab wound going through her gut.

"You should come by the office some time."

"Yeah. Yeah, I will. Thanks."

"Glad to hear it." He reins in Pongo by his leash. "You do seem to be in better spirits."

Which is code for she's wearing less ponytails and floral and managing not to walk around like a skittish zombie at any given hour because she's actually sleeping again. Over the past week, it's something most people in town have made note of with the oh-so subtle tact that can only be inherited from living in Storybrooke. Granny has even started charging her for refills again instead of taking pity on her.

Healing does have its drawbacks.

"Trying." Emma stands back up. "Right now it's–Well, Regina and I are-"

"Ah. Say no more."

"It's good." She bounces on the balls of feet.

"That's great, Emma," he smiles, encouraging. "I know that was a heavy burden for you. She took the news well then?"

And _oh_.

Right.

About that–

*

They call in sick. Well, Emma calls in sick. Regina has about a curse's worth of vacation time saved up, if you want to get technical _._

Emma's aiming for that lazy day in bed. So far there's been much bed and little lazy. Her pants are…somewhere, and her shirt's being bunched up to follow when it finally happens. She had intended to have an actual conversation about this at some point, vaguely started one earlier over breakfast before they wound up in Regina's bedroom. It _may_ have slipped her mind. As have most things outside of this house. She's only human.

But her words are revealed and on display now. Regina's never seen them before. They weren't there in the wish realm, and she pauses as she reads them, thumb brushing underneath, but she quickly moves on.

She's disappointed. She doesn't think–

"They're yours," Emma states plainly, as if this is something inconsequential; as if her heart isn't in her throat.

She carefully watches Regina read over the words again, eyebrow lifting a hair, and finally, she scoffs.

"Given Storybrooke's biannual stints of amnesia, perhaps it's time the town starts commissioning Whale for free head exams. That is _not_ the first thing I said to you."

Emma closes her eyes for a moment, chuckles, and scoots back some in order to sit up. She's immediately distracted again, brushes at a few wispy hairs along Regina's neck. It's been happening all morning. She has no desire to give up touching her now that she _can_ , and it's not as though Regina seems inclined to make her.

"Not here, no," she says and draws Regina's hand back to her hip. "But when I went back in time, that's the first thing you said to me."

"When you went back in t…" she trails off, frowning as she traces back over the mark. "The Evil Queen said this?"

" _You_ did," Emma confirms. "So maybe you're the one who needs their head examined."

Regina scoffs again, and pushes Emma flat, hands coming up to cup her face. The words are forgotten for now and overtaken by unmistakable wonderment of the discovery.

"You."

And there will come a time for conversations about strangers in ballrooms wearing red dresses. Of meeting many but finding none. Of growing up and believing in true love and soulmates and losing faith when too many spoke a single word.

But for now–

"Me." Her toes curl in a sudden bout of nervousness. Fate never seems to offer as much as it strips away, and–and they were supposed to defy it, to win for once. Choosing this after everything feels close to that victory, but the last thing she wants is for Regina to feel any sense of obligation here. "Are you okay with that?"

For a moment, Emma can see it creeping. The Mills Snark written as clearly on her face as the too short and too simple word on her shoulder. But it fades away and all she says is, "Yes." Just as simple. Simple but full and absolute. " _Yes_."


End file.
